The Great ShinRa War
by Borgias
Summary: The backdrop is the ShinRa war on Wutai, and the early lives of Rude, Tseng and Miyuki. Miyuki has given up on life, it seems.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys! Here, as asked for by reviewers, is Miyuki's back-story, what she did and who she was before ShinRa Company got her to work for them. This is going to be a much younger Miyuki than you're used to, nowhere near the tough-talking, Reno-bashing bitch we know now. And this was written fairly early, while I was beginning DCiS, so it might not be as good as what I'm writing now, so that's where the readers come in!

Enjoy! Read and Review, please!

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Miyuki dropped the pot of miso soup she'd been moving to the table with a start. The sirens had started again. Her brother and sister came running into the room, eyes wide and scared. "_O-nee san_!" yelled Kyosuke, pulling his sister's sleeve "Where's Mother? Where's Father?" 

Miyuki shushed him and held her sister, who'd begun to cry. The loud sirens scared Miyuki just as bad as they scared An-Mei and Kyosuke, but she could afford no weakness, with her parents gone and she responsible for the younger children. She nodded at her siblings, "Mother and Father are outside working. Remember what they told us. We have to get out of here."

Just as they were running out of the house, Ichiro and Chiyo ran in. Miyuki looked at her parents: they were pale and seemed to try to look everywhere at once. Ichiro sharply instructed his children, "What are you still doing here?! We have to get out, the ShinRa are coming!"

A few hours later, they were in the thick Wutai sub-tropical forest, slapping mosquitoes off their skin and waiting for news. They'd heard several loud booms far out in the distance. There was a small cave nearby, but it was already crowded. Ichiro had pled for the people to at least let An-Mei and Kyosuke in, since they were children.

They'd let the children in, but Miyuki had to stay outside with her parents. She flinched at the sound of several other booms, these ones actually sounding closer.

It was a hellish experience, but one Miyuki had grown accustomed to, as the ShinRa raids over Wutai increased as Lord Kisaragi refused to acquiesce to ShinRa's demands. The Company had weapons, airships, SOLDIER, Turks.

Lord Kisaragi had the Imperial Army, the Wu-Sheng, and countless unofficial guerrillas hidden in the mountains and forests, who lashed out at ShinRa's armies with very good results, as SOLDIERs were not accustomed to the damp, humid, lush tropical forests of Wutai.

After a few hours, the bomb-dropping airships went further away, and things seemed tranquil enough to venture the journey back into the village. Once Miyuki got her siblings back, they began to walk.

Suddenly, an airplane approached. Everyone looked up, scanning the dark, nighttime sky. Miyuki pulled her father's sleeve and pointed in a north-east direction, "_O-Tosan_ . . ." The people began to panic, and Ichiro roared, "Quiet! How can we tell where it's coming from?"

Miyuki gasped: she heard the shrill whistle a bomb made as it dropped. Others heard it to, and it galvanized the thin edge of terror into a full-blown panic. People screamed and banged into one another as the bomb's high-pitched shriek got louder. Miyuki was separated from her parents, her siblings flung apart from her, and she couldn't find any of them.

The bomb smashed into the ground, splitting the night apart with roaring flames and endless, head splitting noise. Miyuki screamed, feeling hot debris raining on her. She felt rocks, clods of dirt, splinters of wood, pelting her on the back, on her legs and her head. She also felt softer things hitting her, and she turned around.

She couldn't even scream. There was a crater in the ground, a crater edged in blood. Random body parts scattered the ground, a child's body torn apart, a man's head separated from his body.

Miyuki gasped, unable to grasp the horror of what had just occurred. She felt numb.

She gathered her wits somewhat, and called for her parents, for her brother, for her sister. She could hear other people screaming, calling for loved ones, groaning in pain. No one answered back to Miyuki.

Miyuki's nose was full of the stench of blood, of entrails, of smoke, and she couldn't find anyone from her family. She began to scream when she recognized her brother's prized fishing pole, broken and splashed with blood and dirt. Suddenly, every dead child was her brother, her sister. Every pair of sightless eyes were her mother's, every splash of blood was her father's.

She didn't know how long she screamed, but suddenly Chiyo was there. She slapped her screaming daughter, and once Miyuki focused on her, she told Miyuki her siblings were fine, but it was Ichiro who needed help.

So many dead bodies. So many random pieces of people who'd been her friends, her neighbors. Miyuki stepped on something soft, and with a soft cry of despair and revulsion she looked down and saw she'd stepped on a woman's dismembered hand, the soft skin already cold.

The women arrived to where Ichiro held a bloody rag to his head. Shintaro's arm was being bandaged by An-Mei, who wept quietly. Chiyo's face was tight with worry as she scolded Miyuki, "Look at you! You're bleeding!" Miyuki wiped the blood trickling from her head, and she muttered, ". . . Not mine . . ."

She shuddered violently, but opted instead to focus on her father. Ichiro had been struck by a bigger piece of flying wood, and had a deep scratch on his arm from a piece of shrapnel.

After her family had been attended to, they made their way silently back to the village. As they approached, they saw a dim, orange glow. Ichiro swore under his breath and broke off from his family to run ahead.

Feeling she already knew what the glow was, Miyuki began to sob under her breath, squeezing her mother's hand. Chiyo squeezed back, her breath caught in her throat as they broke out of the forest and approached the edge of the village.

ShinRa had firebombed the Sumida River village.

Chiyo wept quietly, moaning, "Our home, Miyuki-chan, look, look what they did!" Miyuki put an arm around her mother and the two women wept for their lost home, comforting the children when they too realized the depth of what had happened and began to cry.

A short while later, Ichiro came back to them. "Everything's lost," he said, his face grim, "the fields are burnt, there are no houses left standing. The food reserves have been destroyed. All we have is the river."

Several other surviving villagers reached the village, their cries amplifying the noise. Shintaro, one of the village's more outspoken men, yelled over the noise, "We knew this might happen! I told you, I told all of you, that it didn't matter we're a small village in the Wutai mountains, ShinRa would try to destroy us as well, and look!"

Many people agreed, adding their consent to Shintaro's voice. Miyuki looked at Shintaro. She'd known him since her earliest childhood, a boy who often enjoyed picking on small children with his own small gang. The pranks were almost always quite harmless, just enough to make the younger child cry, then the teasing would stop.

He'd always yearned to be a warrior, to be able to travel to Northern Wutai, where the Imperial Palace was, and give himself to Lord Kisaragi's army. But family and village duty kept him in here, and he often made him disquiet known to others.

Rumor had it Shintaro was either joining a guerrilla, or making his own. If so, they just might figure a way to stop ShinRa from attacking the village, keep them somewhat safe in the greater frame that was the war.

Miyuki sighed, putting aside heroic notions of her joining the guerrilla. After all, what was she good for? All she knew was cooking, sewing, keeping a home beautiful and clean. All were useless efforts in a guerrilla, just as they were useless talents now. There was no food to cook, no home to keep.

Ichiro, however, thought slightly different from Shintaro, as he argued, "Yes, Shintaro, you told us this might happen, but what could we do? We don't have money to pay for a guerrilla to defend us, we don't have weapons or means to acquire them, we have no political ties to the central Empire.

What we need, more than your warnings and complaints, is action. We need to clean the village, make shelters, and find food. That is more pressing to our immediate needs," he finished, and much more people agreed with Ichiro than with Shintaro. The younger man nodded, "Ichiro-san's right. For now, we must focus on the village, but for all those interested, I am forming my own guerrilla. I acquired several weapons, and-"

One of the surviving village elders roared, "Shintaro, enough! There is much work to do, and we cannot waste time indulging in your war-mongering fantasies!"

Shintaro flushed, and turned away, a bitter expression of disappointment fixed on his face. Miyuki sympathized with both men. It was true, that Shintaro had warned them about ShinRa's ruthlessness, but it was also true the villagers couldn't afford the services of guerrillas. They protected villages for a price, which sometimes made them even worse than the ShinRa themselves.

And while it was true that Shintaro lately did seem to be talking more and more about open war with ShinRa, the fact that he'd come out in the open and suggest forming their own guerrilla was an enticing prospect to Miyuki, as well as several other young men who all looked at Shintaro with open admiration.

Miyuki started when she felt a small tug on her hand. It was An-Mei, who seemed to be asleep where she stood. "_O-nee san_ . . ." she said weakly. Miyuki picked her sister up, ignoring the looks other people gave her, for comforting a girl old enough to be out looking for ways to help.

She didn't care. She loved An-Mei deeply, and was truly sorry her kid sister had had the experiences she'd had today. "Shhh, Mei-mei, just sleep for a while . . ." Miyuki crooned, swaying back and forth, rocking her sister to sleep.

Almost immediately after An-Mei's head lolled sleepily, snoring quietly, Kyosuke went to her. He looked pale, over-exerted, and Miyuki wished she could pick him up as she had An-Mei. "_O-nee san_ . . . what do you think of Shintaro's idea?"

Miyuki frowned at her younger brother, "Kyo-kun, _O-tosan_ is right, we should concern ourselves with building up shelters and finding food. Only then can we consider the guerrilla as an option."

Kyosuke nodded, "Yes, I know, but aren't you interested?" Miyuki asked, "Me? I guess so. Why?" Her younger brother shrugged, "Well, you know you're a good tracker. And in the target practice exercise we've always had, you've always come out on top. Maybe you could ask Shintaro later on."

Another advantage Miyuki had that Kyosuke hadn't mentioned was the fact that there had been such a long time gap between Miyuki and her siblings. Ichiro, having begun to lose hope of ever having a son, had taught Miyuki archery and several techniques more fit to a warrior or a hunter than to a farming village girl.

It was only when he'd fathered Kyosuke that Ichiro began to stop training Miyuki, though she always practiced whenever she could.

Miyuki smiled at her younger brother, "I know what you're saying, Kyo-kun. But for now, let's focus on what needs to be done. Is there a place I can put An-Mei to sleep in? I want to help."

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A/N: Let me know what you think by dropping hints, comments, or reviews, please!! I _like_ having people talk to me about the story, it helps me focus on what to write next.

About the chapter, though . . . I tried to give it the paranoid, claustrophobic feel an air raid gives, what with having an enemy far up in the air that you can't really run away from. And the air-raid sirens are a very simple way of alerting residents to incoming doom. I live in a tsunami-watch area, and we have those sirens. We've had a few safety drills on what to do if those sirens go off, and it is _creepy_! The first time I heard them I was sleeping, and then came this really loud _waaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaahhhh_ sound.

Yeah.

Anyhoo, review, please!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys! Finally, an update, right? Anyway, I have been sooooo busy and I find it hard sometimes to sit down and get into the DCiS-Universe writing mode.Not to say that I have forgotten the story, which of course I haven't.

Enjoy! Read and Review, please!

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Shintaro laughed in long, loud guffaws, "You want me to consider _you_ for the guerrilla?!" Miyuki watched him laugh and wheeze, and, with her voice tight with anger, she explained, "I know basic fighting. I'm a very good tracker. I'm a hard worker and a fast learner." 

The other men hissed at her, throwing verbal darts, "Go back to your kitchen, woman!" "I'll tell you what you can be useful for!" "Know your place!" Miyuki's eyes darted around the clearing, trying as best she could to keep the men in sight.

She'd lived a normal life, but she knew exactly what was in the men's eyes when they looked at her, and it made her skin crawl as she recognized her vulnerability in her current situation.

Shintaro stopped laughing and turned suddenly angry. He rushed forward and grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her upper arm. As he jerked her up to himself, he hissed, "Do you think this is a game, you stupid girl? Do you think this is something you can freely walk into, and just as easily back out when _O-kasan_ isn't here to braid your soft hair, to fix everything when your clothes get dirty and torn?"

Miyuki shook her head, frightened, "N-No, that's not what I thought at all! I know it will be hard work, but I want to keep the ShinRa out of the village just as badly as you do!" Shintaro scowled and pushed her away from himself, "Go back home, Miyuki-san. I have no use for you."

She pled, "Shintaro-san, please, _please_ just give me a fair chance. Let me show you what I could do for the group." He groaned and took a rifle off one of his men. Thrusting the rifle roughly into her hands, he pointed towards a distant tree. "There, hit the bottommost fruit. Hit that, and maybe I'll consider you."

Miyuki looked back at him, mouth hanging open, "B-But Shintaro-san, I've never fired a rifle before, and that target, it's too far away!" He clouted her hard on the side of the head with his loosely fisted hand, making her yelp in pain, "Giving up when you haven't even tried! How disgraceful! And you said you wanted to join the guerrilla!"

She rubbed her head where he'd hit her and tried again, "Shintaro-" Again he grabbed and pulled her, this time by the loose fabric of her shirt, trying to ignore the soft, clean smell of her hair, her skin, as he questioned her, "You think it's easy, what we do? Do you think we just walk up to sleeping enemies and shoot them, that they're so afraid of us they won't shoot back? Sometimes, a long distance shot like this is the difference between a successful defense and a shameful attempt!"

He tried to take the rifle away from her, but Miyuki twisted in his grasp and aimed at the fruit, thinking, "_I only get one chance, I only get one chance_," The moment she thought the fruit was in her sights, she squeezed the trigger.

It was a much louder _boom _than she'd anticipated. Her ears rang, and the recoil of the gun savagely struck her shoulder, making her bite her tongue so badly she almost severed the tip of it. She didn't cry out, but only looked at the fruit to see what had happened to it.

Nothing happened. The men began to jeer and heckle her, asking Shintaro if they could keep her for cooking, cleaning, sexual services and comic relief. But he just held up a hand. The men fell quiet, looking for whatever their leader was looking at.

The fruit fell off the tree.

Shintaro ordered one of his men, "Go fetch it for me." In the tense few minutes that followed, he looked at Miyuki with a strange expression on his face, as if seeing her for the first time. Miyuki defiantly looked back, breathing hard but with a smile on her face. Even if she hadn't hit the goddamn fruit, she had still come out here and tried, which was more than she could say for the other women of the village. She felt a drop of blood seep out of the corner of her mouth, and heard Shintaro ask, "Are you bleeding?" She nodded and mischievously stuck her tongue out at him. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face.

The man came back, looking pale and disconcerted. "Here, Shintaro-san," he mumbled, offering the fruit. Shintaro took it, and audibly gasped when he saw a ragged hole in the exact center of the fruit.

Then, a bedlam of manly protests, "Lucky shot!" "We still don't want a woman here!" "No one could've made that shot!" Shintaro agreed with that last one. He'd only offered Miyuki that particular target because it was one none of his men, not even himself, could have hit. He'd only wanted to scare her away. But seeing how she'd taken the shot and succeeded at it, he was forced to reconsider.

Besides, she really was beautiful . . .

He shook his head slightly, and ordered them all, "All right, that's enough! She took the shot, and made it. We'll set up a few new tests, see how she performs, and if she does well, Harada Miyuki will be included in our guerrilla as our sniper." The men blanched: Shintaro's words were absolute, his face serious and stern. As they scattered to perform their other duties, Miyuki went up to him, her head bowed demurely, "Thank you for giving me a second chance." Shintaro sighed, "I hate having you here. A woman. You'll only distract the men. You'll be more trouble than you're worth."

She was frowning, her smooth brow creased, "Then . . . are you sending me back?" He shook his head, "Nobody could have made that shot, Harada. I . . . I asked you to shoot at that fruit, so you'd fail and have to go back without argument." Miyuki gave a small laugh, sounding sarcastic. Shintaro snickered as well and looked at her, "What? Are you challenging me?" Miyuki arched an eyebrow, "Wouldn't _dream_ of it . . ." He smiled, but the smile had a hard edge to it, "We'll set up new tasks, see how much of that we just saw was beginner's luck, and how much is actual talent. If it was luck, you'll be sent back, no questions, no demands. If, on the other hand, you succeed . . . Miyuki, are you ready to run with mercenaries? We are all men here, and there are certain things men will expect from a woman, if she forces herself into a group of them." The young girl blithely shrugged, "I guess I don't mind cooking and cleaning . . ."

Shintaro chuckled, "Don't be stupid. You know what I'm talking about. Several men, one young beautiful girl . . . You know what I'm talking about." She blushed a deep, dark red, her head still lowered, ". . . I know . . . but . . ." She looked up, black eyes wide and searching, "But you won't let them, will you, Shintaro? I'm here under your protection, am I not?" He gave her an odd look, and shrugged, "It's up to you, woman. I can't be following you wherever you go, protecting you. You'll have to learn how to fend for yourself. But if you turn my men against each other over you, I'll kill you myself. I spent a lot of time putting my team together, and I have no intention of letting a mere girl ruin things."

Still, the fact that he was undeniably attracted to her had to be considered. She was young and beautiful, and Shintaro knew of the way her father had begun training her. It seems like she had the best of two worlds: she knew the basics of fighting and tracking, archery, survival skills, and at the same time, she was quiet, modest, skilled in the arts of maintaining a home. That was not to mention the sheer guts it took for her to come all this way to ask for a chance to join the band of unruly guerrillas. Given a different set of circumstances, Shintaro thought he might have actually begun making advances towards her family, to acquire Miyuki as his wife. As it was, though, all he cared about was getting ShinRa out of Wutai, and if that proved too impossible, at least make them sorry for ever having underestimated the guerrilla.

The men all pitched in ideas to further test Miyuki, and while several were discarded because they were actually brutal tasks the men themselves couldn't perform, they did come up with several more target practice exercises. Miyuki took the shots whenever she felt confident enough to, and by the end of the day, the answer was clear: she was an excellent shooter. It was beyond doubts and arguments: Miyuki was their new sniper, whether the men liked it or not.

Most of them accepted Shintaro's command, being loyal to him, but there were a few who glared mutinously at Miyuki. With growing resentment, Shintaro knew Miyuki was going to spell out trouble, and he faced the disagreeing men, "She's a good shooter, and you know it. She won't bother us. If she does, I'll put her out myself. But for now, she's under my protection: I will answer to what she does wrong." Miyuki, who'd had her head bowed, gave a small gasp; Why was Shintaro going so far, for her sake? Was she really such a good sniper, or did he have other intentions?

She cut her eyes and looked at his profile in the firelight. He looked primal, violent, but he was undeniably handsome, and passionate about his intentions to free Wutai of the oppressing forces of the ShinRa armies. He was well-spoken, intelligent, and Miyuki wondered whether she'd mind an awful lot if Shintaro asked her family for her once this was done. While she hadn't really been entitled to an opinion in the matter, Miyuki knew her family would be wise in choosing her husband when the time was right. And while Shintaro might not have been in their original roster of potential husbands for her, Miyuki knew Shintaro had begun to garner positive opinions from people as they realized he was serious about the guerrilla.

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"Absolutely not! I forbid it!" Chiyo cried in a shrill voice, "You will _not_ run around the mountains with a group of mercenaries, of- of _men!_" Miyuki sighed and squared her shoulders, "Yes, I will, Mother. I was tested by Shintaro, and he thinks I'm worthy. Mother, please understand! I want to fight! I want to make the ShinRa sorry for having ever messed with our village!" 

Chiyo opened her mouth, but closed it. She could see too much of her husband in Miyuki, the set of her shoulders, the resolute line she had cast her mouth into. She wouldn't talk her headstrong daughter out of this harebrained scheme. Instead, she turned on her heel, "Fine. Take it up with your father. Expect no help from me; after all, you chose your way without so much as telling me until now."

Miyuki saw her mother walk away, feeling a coldness spreading within her. Was her mother truly walking away from her? What did this mean, that she was no longer important to Chiyo? Miyuki whirled around to the sound of someone clearing their throat, and saw her father. "F-Father! I-I, um, I wanted to t-tell you-" she stammered, but he held up his hand. Motioning her away, Ichiro sat near the fire, and Miyuki's throat constricted. The difficult past weeks had marked her father, and where before had been coal-black hair, there were white streaks. There were several deep frown lines, and precious few smile creases at his eyes, his mouth.

Ichiro looked old, older than he was, and Miyuki knew it was all the ShinRa's doing, and she hated them for making her beloved parents so careworn.

"Miyuki, child, are you certain this is what you want for yourself?" he finally asked, after looking at her face searchingly for several minutes. "More than anything, Father. And I am good there, I am a sharpshooter, Shintaro told me himself that he thinks I am the best he's ever seen-" Her father interrupted her, "Shintaro said that, did he?" Miyuki froze, feeling the cold wall between herself and Ichiro.

"Yes, Father," she whispered, "I will be under his protection." Ichiro smiled bitterly, "And all that implies, I am sure." Miyuki frowned, not willing to look at her father, not wanting him to see the flush of mixed embarrassment and curiosity on her face at the very real prospect of Shintaro's proximity threatening her innocent womanhood. After a few interminable minutes of silence, just when Miyuki was about to look up at her father and yell for him to say something, anything, to rant and rail against her as her mother had done, just break this awful silence, Ichiro placed a large, warm hand on the side of Miyuki's head, "Go then, child. Make me proud. And know that this is and always will be your home, and that you must love and protect it always."

Miyuki cried silently, nodding her bowed head, "Thank you, Father, I will."

She left later that same night, after her brother and sister had gone to bed. Dinner had been an uncomfortable affair, as both Ichiro and Chiyo refused to let Miyuki talk about her plans with Kyosuke and An-Mei. Both younger children knew something had changed, from the oddly formal way in which Miyuki talked with their parents, but neither Miyuki or the parents would explain. Still, they could have guessed what was the matter, as Miyuki put them to bed herself, crying silently as she tucked them in, kissing their foreheads, hugging them tightly, singing old sweet songs they hadn't heard her sing since they were much younger. In the end, that was the only tenderness involved in the whole act of her leaving, as Chiyo had gone to bed without bothering to see Miyuki off, and Ichiro himself sat smoking his pipe, only giving her the merest of nods as she bowed her head, "Thank you for everything, Father."

He said nothing. Smoke billowed out of his mouth, wreathing his head and making it impossible for her to see his expression.

Miyuki sighed and shouldered what few belongings she had, and left, quickly vanishing into the dark night, making her way to the hideout where she had found Shintaro and the others earlier in the day.

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A/N: So, here we have some screwed up family dynamics, sort of. Miyuki's parents want the best for her, and for her country, but it's hard to face the evident realities they will have to face to get to that point. Anyways, please please please let me know what you think!

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys! An update, after so long, right?

Enjoy! Read and Review, please!

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Regardless of what the men had cooked up to test Miyuki before her inception into the guerrilla, the real test came a few weeks later, when their scout came back with news of a small scouting party of ShinRa Military Police camping nearby.

Miyuki asked, "How far are they?" but several of the men hissed at her to be quiet. They still didn't trust her, hated the very fact of her being there, even if they didn't dare voice their objections to their leader. And speaking of which, he also shushed her, "Quiet, Miyuki. Let the man speak." She sighed and set herself to preparing dinner, yet another task that was given over to her, based on the sole qualification of her being female.

She knew the men wanted her, were in fact very close to simply taking her against her will, but they were also very much aware of the chain of command. They knew that, for them to be able to take Miyuki, Shintaro had to allow it.

And Miyuki herself also saw it that way, only she chose to blind herself in a manner of speaking. She began to see Shintaro as her protector, trying to ignore the fact that he himself was a possible threat. She tried to win him over, win his trust, by allowing him to order her around. Not only was she the group's sniper, she was also the servant: she had to cook, clean, help keep the clothing in good repair.

It worked, sort of. These domestic chores made the men feel more at ease, and Shintaro always insisted on Miyuki's sleeping in his tent. He hadn't touched her yet, hadn't tried to force her, and Miyuki knew he did that to keep her safe from the other men.

Truth be told, Shintaro was a fairly decent man. He could have thrown Miyuki to the men, let them have their fun. But he wasn't in the guerrilla out of a misguided sense of creating chaos. He truly wanted what was best for Wutai, and he recognized Miyuki was an exceptional talent with the sniper rifle. He didn't want his men to become focused only on the prize Miyuki's femininity supposed, and as such, he kept them in line by letting them assume Miyuki was his.

Miyuki shook her head out of her reverie, listening as their informant described the small ShinRa Military Police group scouting nearby. Shintaro asked, "If they're scouting, where's the bigger group?" The informant smirked, "They are very far behind. More than 15 miles behind, actually." Shintaro glanced over at his men, wondering which one he would employ in eliminating this small taskforce. "How many are there?" he asked, casting his eyes back to the informant, who supplied, "There are 4 of them." Miyuki smiled to herself; Shintaro would probably ask her to get rid of them.

He dismissed the informant, paying him with a few coins, some supplies, and sat down to think. One of the men approached him; it was Takeda, probably the only one of the men with whom Miyuki got along. He was an older man whose expertise was sharpshooting as well, although he recognized Miyuki's skills far exceeded his own. "Shintaro-sama," he said, sitting down beside the guerrilla leader, "Let Miyuki-san and myself take care of this. We will do it from a distance, they won't know what hit them. Have Kitsune and the others come near to the ShinRa base camp to get the supplies we need, and we'll be done with the whole thing in less than 20 minutes."

Shintaro nodded faintly, eyes distant as he mused over what they needed. He motioned Kitsune forward. Kitsune, on the other hand, was the man Miyuki hated worse in the group. He was disdainful, cruel with her, trying to grope her whenever Shintaro wasn't looking, always objecting whatever Takeda or any of the other men said to complimenting her. Kitsune began, "Shintaro, the hell with the woman and the old man. We could just swarm them and take them quickly-" Shintaro looked at him levelly, "And give them a chance to call for backup? Better to have two shooters pick them off one at a time." Takeda added, "Rifles make noise, though. Kitsune should be near to attack those we can't shoot quickly." Shintaro nodded, "Yes. That is exactly what we'll do. Let's get close to their camp and figure out their positions. Miyuki, Takeda, you take down as many as you can. Kitsune, Yagami, Murasaki, you take the ones Miyuki and Takeda can't shoot."

Everyone acknowledged their positions and began making preparations, pausing only when Miyuki called them for dinner. "_Itadakimasu_," Shintaro intoned, watching Miyuki uncover the earthen dish in which she'd baked the fish she was serving, placing it in front of Shintaro so he could dispense it as he saw fit. She hadn't said anything of her appointment to be the first to take out the ShinRa team, but Shintaro could tell she was happy from the way she let her finger slide to touch his when she handed him the best pair of chopsticks they had.

After dinner, they finished packing everything and moved out, using their superior knowledge of these hills, these forests, to travel under the cloak of darkness to reach the ShinRa camp. They set up their own camp, and Miyuki went to check her weapon. Takeda was already dismantling his, oiling and cleaning it with utmost care. "Harada-kun," he greeted her, watching her undo the straps which held her gun. It had actually been Takeda's gun, but he knew it served its purpose best in Miyuki's hands.

She still hadn't gotten used to handling it well, he noted, seeing her fumble with the sliding pins, the detachable metal parts. "Harada-kun, don't fear your gun. It is yours, it is an extension of your will. Here," he instructed, taking the gun from her hands and dismantling it quickly. Miyuki watched in rapt attention, admiring the quick, precise motions Takeda used to break apart the gun's casing. "I suppose I'm afraid of breaking it, or of shooting myself," she confessed, making Takeda laugh, although his laugh wasn't one of mockery. "You won't break it, Harada-kun. And if you shoot yourself, then I suppose you'll have to give up your dream of running with the guerrillas. If you survive, of course," he continued.

He helped Miyuki gain confidence with the weapon, knowing she liked being a sniper. It was more than just stealthily killing people; it was a challenge, a manner of finding a precise, tiny window of opportunity when one had to figure out wind direction and speed, the light, the location of your quarry, and take the shot without giving away your position.

Sniping was far more entertaining than any game Takeda had ever played.

After Miyuki cleaned her rifle and put it away, she bowed her head in formal gratitude to the man she saw as her mentor, "_Arigatou, Takeda-sempai_." He bowed his head in acknowledgement and watched the young woman walk away. The moment she was gone, though, his face fell a bit. He had a daughter himself, and he saw her reflected in Miyuki. He would've hated for his daughter to have joined the guerrillas, would've fought it every step of the way, and he knew the dangers Miyuki was in. If she failed the next day's mission, Takeda just didn't want to know what would happen to the young girl.

Miyuki went into Shintaro's tent, being especially quiet to not wake him up as she unrolled her futon. Still, he sat up, lit a small candle. She smiled meekly, preparing her bedding, and offered the quick explanation, "I couldn't sleep. I was cleaning my gun." He was silent, looking at her through dark, solemn eyes, and patted the space beside him. Miyuki sat where he asked, feeling his proximity, and he muttered, "Miyuki . . ." She smiled softly to herself, allowing herself a small, feminine thrill of pleasure at hearing him say her name like that. He reached out and squeezed her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. Miyuki moistened her lips, "Shintaro, what is it?" He shook his head and released her hand, placing it on her lap. He drew a deep breath that he then let out slowly, "Promise me you'll be excellent tomorrow, Miyuki. Promise me I'll have nothing to regret by having allowed you into the group." Miyuki's eyes darted around the room. So far, she'd only shot at targets; fruits, bottles, marks painted onto a tree, never at a human being. She'd never been out on the field before, and she knew that both she and Shintaro had much riding on her success. Shintaro had his credibility as a leader on the line, while Miyuki's whole existence right now was being threatened. If she failed, she was far from home. Shintaro would release her from the group, and she'd never make it out in one piece.

She nodded, "I will, Shintaro. I promise you I will." He nodded once in acknowledgement and lay down, pulling Miyuki down with him. Despite the harsh conditions, Miyuki took care to keep herself as clean as possible, something she was immeasurably glad of at the moment, when her heart trip-hammered in her chest, wondering if Shintaro would succumb at last to the temptation of having a lovely young woman in his tent.

She gasped as he pulled her close to himself, her back to his chest, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply the scent of her hair, her skin, and Miyuki felt equal amounts of tenderness and arousal, wanting him to take advantage of her, that if he wanted to, she'd let him, but at the same time, she wanted him to take her seriously, not just as an object for his lustful intentions. Thinking these useless thoughts, she drifted off to sleep, feeling Shintaro relax behind her.

* * *

Hey guys! I have a lot of material written up about Rude and Tseng's early days at ShinRa Co, and I was wondering if I could perhaps get away with mixing it with Miyuki's story, making it into a more comprehensive background on the older, pre-Reno Turks. Let me know what you think by leaving a lovely review! Cheers!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn, Brendan and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hello! Here's the second part of the previous chapter. Miyuki's first official sniper mission!

Enjoy! Read and Review, please!

* * *

Dawn suddenly came, and with it, a near-miss from Miyuki's self-respect, as she rose from bed queasy and anxious. She darted into the woods to vomit as quietly as she could, and refused to partake of the simple breakfast she set out for the men, limiting herself to a cup of tea. Takeda smiled knowingly, but at the same time he wondered if Miyuki would be tough enough to perform her task well. In the end, they picked up camp quickly, setting out at an easy trot to a small clearing further down the hill. Takeda slung his rifle over his shoulder and motioned Miyuki over, telling Shintaro, "We'll go from here. I'll be on those bluffs over there," he pointed north, "While Harada-san will choose her own position." Miyuki glanced at him quickly; the north ridge was almost suicidally dangerous, as there was very little cover, and the bluffs themselves were razor-sharp. He was taking the most dangerous place so that she could have a better spot on the western side of the valley.

Takeda caught Miyuki's glance and gave her a brief smile to reassure her. Shintaro missed this small detail, and instructed Kitsune and the other men, "Alright. While the sharpshooters take their positions, we're going to circle around them on the south and east ends." He dispensed a few more instructions and everyone left with their purpose firmly in mind. Miyuki seemed loath to go to her assigned place, waiting for an encouraging word from Shintaro. Instead, he turned around, "Miyuki, what are you waiting for?" She shook her head, "Nothing."

An hour later, she was setting up at a very well-hidden cove on the western side of the valley. From there, Miyuki built herself three different places that each offered a different vantage point to shoot at the enemy camp. And now was the waiting game, where Miyuki and Takeda would each watch the enemies, waiting for them to relax their guard, to separate from the group.

About 2 hours later, one of the men cast a furtive glance at his companions, and if Miyuki had been a cat, her ears would have perked up. The man went a bit away from the group, fumbling in his pocket. He pulled something slim out, and the sudden puff of smoke let Miyuki know the man had gone outside the camp to smoke an illegal substance. He knew what he was doing; he'd gone somewhere the wind would take the smoke away from the camp. A sudden bright flash: Takeda was signing with a mirror for Miyuki to take the shot. She nodded, unable to return the sign, and cocked the rifle to her shoulder, steadying her breathing the way Takeda had taught her. She became so still as to become part of the cove itself, counting her heartbeats, the space between those heartbeats, until she suddenly focused and squeezed the trigger.

The shot took half the man's head off, his body jerking for a few seconds before realizing it was dead and dropping to the ground.

The other men, alerted by the shot, became alert, cautious, although since the man Miyuki had shot had gone outside the camp, they had no clear idea where the shots were coming from. Not to mention, also, the echoing report of the shot as it reverberated in the valley. Miyuki grinned as she reloaded her rifle, moving from her current position to one of her other 'nests', and taking down another of the MPs. A resounding boom let her know Takeda had taken another of the men on the other side of the camp, and by her count, there was only one man left. She signed to Takeda once more, receiving a standard two-flash sign that everything was OK.

Still, Miyuki frowned to see Kitsune and the others stealthily walk into the village. There was still one man hiding, he could be anywhere. Miyuki saw a sudden movement: the man ran out of a clump of bushes, knife raised high to stab one of the men. She didn't even think; she pulled the rifle to her shoulder and fired. It wasn't a clean shot, but it gave her fellow guerrilla a few seconds to ready himself, turning around to kill the MP with a precise stab to the throat. Takeda flashed several times in premature celebration, and Miyuki flashed back several times as well.

Down in the camp, the men moved swiftly, canvassing the tents for medicines and supplies, food, clothes, weapons, and any other article they might use or barter later on. Shintaro stood at an open space, a place he knew Miyuki could see him. He waved at her, a faint smile on his face.

Her first mission had been a success!

Miyuki sighed in contentment, laying on her back on the tall grass. There was no telling how exactly she felt. She had just killed her first human being. She had just earned Shintaro's respect.

She had just ended a life. She had just begun her own new life.

She realized she was crying a bit, and she reached up to wipe her cheeks with the heels of her hands, reaching out to the tall grass to press cool handfuls of it to her face, inhaling its fresh scent. A bug walked over her ankle; she didn't care.

A few minutes later, however, she felt a man's tread approaching. Before she could react, however, Shintaro explained, "It's me, Miyuki." She staid as she was, looking up at him when he stood beside her, his frame casting a shadow over her face. He smiled more sincerely, now that it was only the two of them, and dropped something onto her stomach. Miyuki took the proffered item and saw it was a wrapped piece of something brown. Thinking it looked vaguely obscene, she looked up at him again, muttering, "_Nanda kore wa?_" Shintaro sat down beside her, taking the candy from her hand and beginning to unwrap it. "Chocolate," he said, the words strange in his mouth as he finally peeled the strange-looking piece and offered it to her again. Miyuki shook her head, and Shintaro shrugged, sniffing the candy a moment before taking a tentative bite.

His nose wrinkled as he grinned, suddenly boyish in his brand-new experience. Miyuki asked, "What does it taste like? Tell me!" He shook his head, offering the piece again, and this time Miyuki took a bite. It was too sweet, the texture was creamy and melting in her mouth. Miyuki found herself grinning also, watching Shintaro take another small bite before offering her the remaining bit. They finished the candy, Shintaro sucking on one of his fingers thoughtfully as he muttered, "You did good, Miyuki. You saved Yagami's life." Miyuki bowed her head, "I only did what I was supposed to." He looked at her, shaking his head a bit. She was obstinate, headstrong, and so very beautiful in her innocence and her liveliness. Shintaro asked, "Did you like the chocolate?" Miyuki nodded, smiling again but hiding her smile from him. He bowed his head a bit, trying to catch her eyes, until she finally burst out laughing, laying back down in the grass. He looked at her, her long dark brown hair fanned out on the vibrant green grass, the slightest of breezes making the long grass whisper and sigh, and he felt his heart beat hard in his chest.

She sighed, "I feel strange. I'm sad, and I'm happy. I feel so alive, like I'll burst into flames." Shintaro again touched her hand, and Miyuki squeezed it, and this time it was her that pulled Shintaro down to lay beside her, who reached out to touch her delicate fingers to his firm brow, his proud cheekbones, his mouth. He reciprocated the small gestures, taking a few strands of her hair and rubbing it between his fingers, feeling the texture of the soft, heavy strands. Miyuki placed a hand on his chest, felt his heart thundering, and took one of his hands and boldly placed it on her own chest, between her breasts, letting him feel her own staccato heart. A few seconds of silent communication, and Shintaro leaned forward, kissing Miyuki at the same time he moved his hand over her breast.

It was a matter of a few more minutes, a wild rush to finally quench that which they had been wanting for a long while now, and Miyuki added yet another brilliant new experience to her young life.

It had started in pain, but quickly turned to something else, accurately reflecting the way she felt at the moment. It had hurt, true, but it had more significance to her than just Shintaro possessing her body the same way he possessed her loyalty. Miyuki felt more complete, more asserted in herself, and knew, in a deep, practical recess of her mind, that her place within the guerrilla could not be disputed now.

Later, much later, when they descended from their cove and went to their camp, the men seemed to know what had happened. What they had assumed to have been happening for a while now had actually, just now, happened. Takeda's eyes were saddened, remorseful, as he helped her clean her weapon. He patted her hand, muttering, "Your shooting was excellent." Just four words, but the paternal air behind his mournful tone reminded Miyuki of her father, and she was forcibly reminded that she was truly an outcast now, that she couldn't come back proudly into her village, not as Shintaro's concubine. She felt too grown up in too little time, and felt suddenly confused about her exact reasons for being there at war with the ShinRa, running around a mountain with a pack of violent men, one of which had just laid claim to her body. Miyuki bowed her head, the first few tears sliding down her cheeks, and Takeda clucked his tongue at her, "Come now, you were a full-grown sniper not long ago, and a full-grown woman shortly after, apparently, so why the childlike moping? Clean your gun and put it away; the rains are coming."

* * *

LOL, Wutaians are crazy. But seriously, Miyuki loves the old man. He's like a surrogate father to her right now, and he's 'passing the torch', as it were, to the younger, more talented sniper.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys, here you go! Enjoy, Read and Review, please!

I hope to publish several new chapters that I've already written, to make up for my absence these last couple of months.

* * *

Several months after Shintaro claimed Miyuki as his woman, the guerrilla embarked on a hard hike through the forested mountains towards a ShinRa encampment. Miyuki threw up, whimpering in her throat. Their march was a harsh, long one, and the forest, the world itself, seemed poised against them. Heavy rains, chill winds, mudslides and disease weakened the guerrilla, who all pled Shintaro to give up the march and let them hole up in a village or even in a cave for a few days. All pled, except for Miyuki. She wanted no attention from the men, not even Shintaro. Especially not from Shintaro.

Miyuki thought she might be pregnant.

Her breasts, her belly, were all very tender, and she'd stopped having her monthly blood. Everything she ate invariably came back out in a revolting spew that left her weak and trembling. This was no place for a young mother, much less a child. And Shintaro, oblivious to the changes within her, still took her as his woman frequently, ignoring her weak pleas, that she was tired, sick. This night was no exception, and after he finished with her, he gruffly told her to go to sleep, that tiredness was all that was wrong with her. He'd been growing irritated at her withdrawal, her refusal to tend to him.

A hard, sharp pain shot through her abdomen, making her gasp. Another bolt of pain. She shook him, crying, "Shintaro . . . Shintaro, help me . . ." He groggily woke up, grumbling, "What? What is it, Miyuki?" The frightened girl shook her head, her hands grasping her slender body.

He helped her to her feet and walked her to a secluded spot in the forest, thinking she needed to relieve herself. Still, he could see how frightened she looked, how woefully young she was. Miyuki begged him to stay with her, and as soon as she squatted, she felt a hot gush of blood rush out of her, making her cry out in pain. Shintaro looked down, hearing the panicked note in her whimpers. The light of the full moon shone upon them, and suddenly, Shintaro saw the glimmer of blood. Blood on her fingertips, blood on her legs.

Miyuki had lost an unborn child.

Shintaro helped her to her feet, cleaned her with a rag. He felt a bit glad she had lost the unborn creature, and also tremendously guilty. He knew Miyuki was an invaluable asset to the guerrilla. This had to happen. It was the natural course of things. Miyuki had to lose that baby. The guerrilla couldn't lose their best sniper to motherhood, or share her with an infant. Add to that Takeda's growing older, slower, and it exacerbated the group's need to have Miyuki with them.

With a soft cry, Miyuki slumped against Shintaro, covering her mouth so that her sobs were only heard by herself and him. He sighed, behaving in an unusually sympathetic manner as he stroked her hair and kissed her pale face. "It had to happen, Miyuki. We're not meant for parenthood, not now," he told her, turning her away from the pool of red that could have been a little boy or girl. He pulled her back to their tent, put her in her sleeping roll. "Sleep, Miyuki," he soothed the still crying girl, giving her a sip of _sake_, and she dropped off into exhausted sleep after a few minutes.

Shintaro went back to the place she'd miscarried, and buried the whole mess, whispering a quick prayer for the dead. Wutaians were of the idea that life started at conception, and this wasn't a mere mass of blood clots, it was in effect his child, the child he'd created with Miyuki. He spared himself a few minutes to feel sorry for himself. Shintaro didn't want to spend all his life living like a wild man in the forests. He eventually wanted to settle down, raise crops, raise children. Miyuki would make an excellent mother, but not with the life he was currently giving her. He could've sent her away, kept her safe at her village, but her talent behind a rifle was the stuff of legend, he couldn't deny his group her skills, not for some stupid whim of his to live a normal live while leading an anti-ShinRa guerrilla.

With a soft sigh, Shintaro dripped some _sake_ onto the mound of soft earth, warm, black earth that buried his child, took a sip for himself, and joined Miyuki in their tent.

* * *

A/N: Yeah . . . Maybe this explains some of why Miyuki's such a sad, angry person sometimes . . .


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys, here you go! Enjoy, Read and Review, please!

* * *

Two years passed, two years in which Miyuki learned all about herb lore: which herbs stanched bleeding, which ones numbed pain, which ones induced euphoria and lovely illusions that made a person escape reality for a while. She learned which ones kept pregnancies away, and also, sadly, she learned which ones would flush a baby out of her body, if the baby managed to enter her body regardless of her will. Shintaro knew this, but had never confronted her about it. He suffered the loss of those unborn children as much as Miyuki herself did, but neither of them allowed themselves the luxury of a long mourning period, or entertained thoughts of having a family.

Two years passed, two years in which Miyuki learned all about sniping: how to gauge distances, how to determine wind speed and direction, how to withstand days of agonizing wait for her quarry to appear, how to disappear into the trees so efficiently the neighboring villages had begun whispering about vengeful ghosts who drew their revenge on the ShinRa. She learned all she could from Takeda, until finally came the inevitable. They had entered into a skirmish with ShinRa troops, and Takeda had been injured. The wound wasn't healing; Takeda had gotten an infection.

She cried silently, watching the older man wheeze for breath, quickly losing the battle against the infection he'd caught, only worsened by the damp Wutai rainforest. He opened his eyes, his gaze feverish. Miyuki pressed his hand, "Takeda?" He only smiled sweetly up at her, "Miyuki . . . you name means 'beautiful happiness', did you know that?" She did, but said, "No, Takeda-san, I didn't know. Thank you for telling me." He coughed weakly, his color fading, "I wish . . . I wish I could've seen my Kaede before the end. But I have you, my bright student, my happiness, don't I?" Miyuki lost her composure and sobbed like a small child. This man had been like a surrogate father for her; he'd taught her invaluable fighting and shooting skills, had always listened to her and comforted her when she felt bad, and now he was dying. "Takeda-jii, Takeda-jii . . ." she cried, using the pet name she used sometimes when she'd been annoyed at his rebukes, always justified, whenever she screwed up. The old man closed his eyes, and died.

The guerrilla group buried their old sniper in the forest which claimed him, Miyuki insisting on marking his grave. The others disagreed, claiming that to leave an obvious marker would be tantamount to simply announcing their whereabouts. Shintaro agreed, but seeing Miyuki's stricken face, he sighed, "Alright. Let's put a white stone on his grave. We can't identify it, Miyuki, but we can mark its location in our maps, and tell his family about it." Miyuki nodded in defeat, although she had taken several of Takeda's personal effects with the intention of giving them to his family the next time they passed by his village. She wanted to meet Kaede, Takeda's daughter, the woman whom Miyuki had substituted for a few short years. She wanted Kaede to have all the letters her father had written her that he didn't get the chance to send, tell her his passing had been as comfortable as she could make it, and that Takeda had been a great man.

The group moved out the next day. Shintaro was compassionate with Miyuki, whom he knew was attached to Takeda. He grasped her hand, looking at her face. Miyuki looked back, her eyes bleak, sad. She rested her head against his shoulder, and together they left camp, leaving behind Takeda's grave.

* * *

_**Midgar**_

_**ShinRa Tower**_

"Heh heh, look at the big dummy . . ." "Says he wants the Turks, but one look at him, and you just _know_ he'll be put in SOLDIER." "Big fucker, ain't he? That'll stop a few bullets."

The tall youth heard these comments and more, each consecutively worse than the previous. And while he may not have fully understood the language, he understood the condescending tone well enough. "_They're making fun of me, they're mocking me . . ._" he thought, feeling his face blaze red-hot with shame. And then there was the old man, the Turk leader. The younger man looked down at him, saw him widen his eyes minutely, and whistle between his teeth, "Well, you're one big guy, huh?" The foreigner thrust his application forward, murmuring, "Mideel . . ?" The older man caught on instantly, "Have we got a Mideel-language version? No, I'm sorry. Thing is, young man, Turks are expected to master the Midgar continental dialect, among any others they might choose to learn. Learn Midgar, and you'll actually have a head start already, since most of them only know the one language."

He glanced up at the young man, saw the hopelessly lost look in his eyes. "I can tell you're not understanding me . . ." Veld muttered, and then he had an idea. "There's a woman, works in the cafeteria team downstairs, I think she's from Mideel. Come on." He led the tall young man past the sniggering junior executives and down into the cafeteria, leading him to a lady the young man just knew was from his own country. The olive-toned skin, the coarse, thick black hair, and her name, above anything, stitched into her shirt, "_Esperanze_".

Veld talked to her for a moment, and the woman looked at the younger man, smiling. Finally, blessed relief! The woman addressed the young man in his own tongue. "What's your name, son?"

"Rudrigo ."

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A/N: Betcha can't tell who our young man here is! Nah, you probably can. Either way, poor Miyuki! She's lost her mentor, and two years in the guerrillas have toughened her up like nobody's business. Read and Review, please!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys, here you go! This is more ShinRa-centric for now, since Miyuki is out in Wutai doing her thing, might as well have some exposition on the Turks from way back when, right? Enjoy, Read and Review, please!

* * *

Rudrigo looked at the woman, his countrywoman, and she smiled and laid a hand on her ample bosom, "Esperanze, at your service. Mr. Veld says you have a form you need to fill out?" The young man nodded and proffered the empty form at the woman, confessing, "I don't understand anything. I thought it would be easier, that someone there would know Mideel." The woman arched an eyebrow, "Very few people from Mideel working at ShinRa Company right now, Rudrigo. Most of them have service jobs, like me."

She turned and smiled at Veld, talking in heavily accented Midgar dialect, "Sir, please have something to eat while I complete the form with Rudrigo here." Veld smiled back and looked at the young man, "Is that your name? Very pleased to meet you." He shook the young man's hand, shrugging, "I already had lunch, Esperanze, thanks. I'll just come back to collect Rudrigo here a bit later. I'll send someone."

The woman nodded, and Veld left. She gestured for the youth to sit down while she got them coffee, not the coffee usually served in the cafeteria, but one the cafeteria laborers (about half of them were from Mideel, the other half Costan) brewed for themselves. Rudrigo sipped the coffee, and a knot formed in his throat; he missed his home town sorely, the balmy breezes making the trees rustle and talk amongst themselves, the mineral smell that wafted from the hot springs. And the rich aroma of the coffee, its strong, bitter taste, brought it all to his heart with a pang. Esperanze noticed, and murmured, "It's not easy, is it, Rudrigo?" The young man shook his head, and after a few minutes of silence, they began working on the long form.

A long while later, they'd finished, and Esperanze insisted on feeding Rudrigo an early dinner. What she served was something he'd never had before, which she explained was some of what people here in Midgar ate. He tried it; smiled. It was very different from Mideel country fare. Different, but very good. No sooner had he finished his meal, than a uniformed young man walked into the cafeteria. Even though he seemed very young, the young man seemed very self-possessed, walking with purpose. He did a second take on the seated youth from Mideel, whom, even while sitting seemed larger than what people were used to.

He approached the table and nodded at Esperanze, which instantly made Rudrigo think better of him. Out of all the ShinRa employees who'd come in, not one of them had thanked or even looked at the minority groups laboring in the cafeteria, as if by ignoring them, they could forget those less privileged. "Hello, my name's Tseng. Veld sent me to fetch the form, if you've completed it. . ?" he asked, trailing off when he saw the young man look quickly to Esperanze, who translated. The man immediately offered Tseng the completed form, and Tseng was pleased to see neat handwriting, although he also noted the several pages of scribbled notes, practice sheets for the many words he'd had to learn to write.

He looked at the young man, and with a pained expression, tried, "I'm sorry if I get your name wrong, Rud- Rude . . . Ru-_drig-_oh." The young man laughed and nodded, "OK, Zeng." His voice was deep, booming, but while kept to a quiet, conversational tone, it was actually quite pleasant to listen to. It sounded like a small boulder rolling around. Both young men shared a laugh at each other's expense, and Tseng, nodding again at Esperanze, tried, "So, you'll be staying here, Veld already made the accommodations. He'll look at your form, interview you tomorrow, and we'll see from there." The young man followed Tseng through the corridors, noticing that, like him, Tseng also seemed to be somewhat of a minority here. More of a minority than Rudrigo himself, actually, seeing as how Tseng was, as far as Rudrigo could tell, the only person with slanted eyes, that golden tone in his skin, and that little dot on his forehead. Not once did Rudrigo see a person of Tseng's ethnicity, not even as a service worker, and he vaguely recalled the rumors in Mideel of a war the ShinRa had waged against some distant land. Wondering if it was Tseng's land, Rudrigo noticed several people pull away from Tseng, stop talking when he got near, and even a small knot of people who actually seemed to recoil when the elevator stopped and Tseng walked in, ushering Rudrigo in.

Once the elevator was empty and the doors slid closed, Tseng sighed quietly, looking downcast, "It's because of the war with Wutai . . ." Rudrigo muttered, "You Wutai?" Tseng looked up, surprised that Rudrigo didn't know him for what he was, and nodded, "Yes, I am. _Konichiwa _and all that stuff." The bell _dinged_ and the doors slid open, and Tseng motioned, "This is our floor, Rude- oh, hell, Ru-dri-go- I am so sorry! I can't get it right!" The tall man liked the Wutaian, and disliked being the cause of him looking unhappy like that. He nodded, "Rude . . . is . . . OK, Zeng. _Tseng_."

The Wutaian smiled up at him gratefully, "Are you sure just 'Rude' is OK? It kinda means something different here." The taller man didn't understand, just nodded again, "Rude is OK." Tseng let out a small breath and led the aspiring Turk to the small ShinRa-owned apartment Veld had procured, despite the executives' demurring about putting up a youth who couldn't even speak Midgar Continental. "Here's where you'll be staying," the Wutaian gestured at the door, "I'll be here to pick you up at 0700 hours." He hated treating the other man like this, as if dealing with a child, but had to do it, had to be sure he understood. Tseng tapped his watch and put up seven fingers, then made a mimic pointing to the completed form and to the end of the hallway ("_At 7 we take the form and go._") The tall man nodded once more, and offered, "Coffee, Tseng?" Tseng smiled and began to say no, when he recognized not only hospitality, but loneliness. Letting out another small breath, Tseng nodded, "OK, Rude, but just one cup."

Several hours later, Tseng was still there with Rude. He'd tried to bridge the language gap between them by coaching Rude through what he thought would be the interview, how to answer the things in the form. Rude was a good student, quickly learning the correct answers, and Tseng knew he truly wanted this job. Thinking he'd ask why, Tseng gave a wide, jaw-cracking yawn and glanced at the clock, making a face, "Oh, holy Leviathan, look at the time! It's nearly midnight!" Rude caught some of Tseng's dismay and made a face himself. Tseng got up to leave, and Rude walked him to the door, rumbling a quiet, "Thank you, Tseng," that, while very short, conveyed his gratefulness aptly. The Wutaian smiled and shrugged, "Don't thank me yet, Rude. I'll see you later."

Early the next morning, Veld glanced uneasily at the clock. It was almost seven, time for Rudrigo to come in for the interview, which was something Veld was dreading. The young man was not supposed to have any help during the interview, or during the written exam, and Veld had seen a flash of brilliance in the young man's eyes he just knew would be ill-reflected by the interview. He sighed as an idea dawned upon him, "_The executives would tear me a new one for this. . ._" he thought, picking up the phone.

At exactly 6:59, the door opened, and Tseng peered in. Veld found himself smiling at the young man. A thoughtful and almost frightfully intelligent Wutaian, Tseng had overcome the odds (including racial prejudice and mountains of paperwork) to finally become a Turk, at least on paper. This was an event that had occurred just yesterday, a few hours before Rudrigo himself got there. Despite, in actuality, the fact that Tseng had been enrolled in ShinRa training programs for almost two years now. Tseng entered the office, gesturing, "Come in, Rude." Veld smiled at Tseng, and the Wutaian mouthed, "_Compromise. Couldn't get his name right._" He was followed by the applicant, who glanced around the office and flashed a quick smile to Veld. Veld gestured at the chairs before his desk and told the young men, "Sit. I am going to do something very, very unorthodox, but that I hope will pan out for all of us. Let's hope he gets here quick."

Tseng looked at Veld inquisitively but held his tongue, something Veld appreciated in a person. He asked, "So it's 'Rude' now, is it?" Rude smiled, and Tseng explained, "Yes sir. I was having problems getting his name right." Rude nodded and gravely added, "We fix it." Tseng nodded solemnly as well, but Veld saw he was leading a mighty struggle to not burst out laughing. There was a soft knock on the door, and Veld called out, "Enter." A janitor walked in, looking scared to have been called out to the office of the Turk Commander. "What is the matter?" he asked, the name on his shirt _Guilhermo_. Veld's brow furrowed, "No, no, there's no problem. I just want your expertise as a Midgar-Mideel translator." The man looked at Veld. Then at Tseng, and finally at Rude, a smile opening his face, "_One of ours for the Turks?!_" he asked incredulously in their language, and Rude replied in like, "_About time, don't you think?_" Both men from Mideel laughed, and Tseng arched his eyebrows at Veld, who smiled and shrugged, taking the opportunity of both of them being distracted to slip Tseng a piece of paper. _Find a language school and enroll Rude. Company's tab._

Even if Rude didn't make it into the Turks, Veld still wanted to help him out any way he could, and learning the Midgar Continental dialect would ensure he ended up with a much better job than most of his peers within the Company, who'd been hired as illegal immigrants and had learned the language while working here.

Using the janitor as a liaison, Veld conducted the interview, and found that Rude was a deeply intelligent man, who seemed very loyal and trustworthy. Not to mention that, like most people from Mideel, he possessed a mild character and a disposition to work hard. Veld went into the details of Rude's background:

He was from the northern peninsula of Mideel, an area renowned for lush forests, vibrant wildlife, beaches and hot springs.

His father actually owned and operated a small inn beside a hot spring, where visitors could have a meal, relax at the springs, and have a night of restful sleep. It was a family operation, as several of his extended family members worked at the hot spring inn.

Rude's only nuclear family was his father. His mother had died when he was 13 years old, and he was an only child.

Which meant his father was worried and displeased that Rude wanted to be a Turk.

His motivation to join the Turks wasn't meant to intentionally displease his father, but more out of a desire to help his hometown through a solid connection to ShinRa. He wasn't trained for administrative work, and the military would take too long to get him to a status where he could help, so Turks it was. Besides, how many Mideel Turks were there?

Veld nodded, "Very true, but Rude . . . It's going to be very, very difficult, mostly because of the language barrier. All the trainers, all the manuals and tests, it's all in Midgar. How fast can you learn the language?" After Guilhermo's translation, Rude looked glum. He sighed, and explained for the janitor to tell Veld, "I am willing to try hard, and I will learn as fast as I am able to." Veld looked at him, and at Tseng. The Wutaian looked hopeful; the janitor, mildly defiant, as if he'd speak up for Rude should Veld decline him further opportunities. Rude himself looked determined. With a mild sigh, Veld nodded, "Alright. We'll give it a shot. You're a Turk, at least preliminary. Take a few classes, see how you do, and then we'll talk further."

Guilhermo exclaimed in Mideel, "_That's it! They're giving you a chance, man! He said for you to take a few classes, and then he'll interview you again. You'd better learn, man, and get us our first Mideel Turk!_" Rude grinned, "_I will! Just sit and watch!_"

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A/N: Yay for Rude!

And a very happy (belated) New Year to all of you!

And as usual, Read and Review!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys, here you go! This is more Rude and Tseng centric for now, since Miyuki is out in Wutai doing her thing, might as well have some exposition on the boys from way back when, right? Enjoy, Read and Review, please!

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After the interview, Tseng gave Rude a small tour through ShinRa Tower, taking him to the Turk floor (a mistake on Tseng's part, since Rude wasn't officially a Turk yet), and all through the floors people could normally access without needing a specified keycard. Rude was impressed by the Exhibition Room, with its model of Rocket No. 26, cars and motorcycles. After that, it was simply a waiting game. Veld was still clearing Rude to begin his training, and still clearing Tseng so he could begin his Mako enhancement program, something the executives still weren't sure about.

The next days were spent in relative peace, as Tseng pored over extensive tomes of material he might be tested on later on, as the executives had already done a few times before. Rude, on the other hand, constantly practiced the Midgar dialect, listening to tapes and working with the materials the instructor Tseng had gotten him gave him. Often, the young men simply took all their materials and went to the cafeteria, Rude receiving help from the Mideel workers from the cafeteria, and Tseng to enjoy hearing the Mideel language spoken fluently around him. The Mideel language, Tseng recognized, was very similar to the _Costano_ dialects spoken by the Costa del Sol immigrants, which might explain why the two ethnic groups worked so well together. Both languages had trilled R's, oddly flattened vowels, and a certain sing-song cadence Tseng found fun to hear.

After a few days of this studious ambience, Veld called Tseng: Both himself and Rude were now officially Turks, and both were scheduled to begin their Mako enhancements two days from then. Tseng took Rude to be measured for uniforms, cheering Rude as he tried to explain to him that he'd been accepted as a Turk. Once Rude had understood, he'd shaken Tseng's hand so enthusiastically his whole arm was numb up to the shoulder. Finally, to celebrate, Tseng dragged Rude out onto the Midgar Plate, to have a late dinner at a very crowded, very noisy cafeteria in the drab, poverty-stricken Wutaian section of Sector 2. Rude watched in impressed silence as Tseng argued with a waiter in a language that seemed as lovely as it was incomprehensible, filled with vowels and lilting tones. Once again, Rude tried eating something that was totally different from anything he'd ever eaten back at home, and found it delicious. There were noodles, broth, steamed crabs, dumplings, and a few thing Rude had no idea what they were, but upon seeing Tseng urging him, found them not only edible, but tasty.

Later on, they found themselves once more at Rude's apartment. After accepting Rude's now-traditional invitation for coffee, Tseng sighed and asked what had been on his mind since he'd met the tall youth from Mideel.

"So . . ." Tseng began, "Why do you want to be a Turk so badly, Rude? I mean, if you don't mind me asking. If you do, just let me know and I'll shut up." Rude looked at his friend, the first person in this Company who'd ever treated him as a peer. He smiled and spoke haltingly in Midgar dialect, "It's OK. I do not mind, you're good." Tseng grinned, looking younger than he did with his uniform. He was glad the young man saw him as a friend. Truth was, Tseng was often very lonely. People who could be his peers in age or interests were too judgmental of his ethnicity, and the one person who did show genuine interest in Tseng as a person was Veld, who was Tseng's direct superior. It was truly very nice to be able to talk and laugh with another person his age, with his interests. He looked at his new friend, attentive to his answer.

Rude began, "I want to . . . umm . . . change things in Mideel." Tseng queried, "But how? I mean, we'll be Turks, but we don't handle the distribution of money." Rude nodded, smiling, "But we know where the . . . executives are going, what they're doing, yes?" Tseng smiled, knowing where the young man was headed, "Yes, you're right. Turks really is a privileged position, information-wise." Rude drank deeply from his mug and cocked his head to the side, asking, "What about you? Why are you a Turk?" Tseng breathed in deeply, and Rude amended, "If you . . ." Tseng smiled, "No, it's alright, I don't mind. It's just . . . I don't really know. I don't have any family left. Not that I know of. And . . ." He trailed off, unsure if he should say the next. But seeing Rude's friendly, earnest face, he decided quickly, "I lost both parents more than a year ago, and a friend helped me out. I suppose . . . I want to protect this friend."

Rude nodded, face serious. Then, he asked, "This . . . Mako session . . . Um . . . Is it bad?" Tseng shrugged, an uneasy expression in his face, "I don't know, but I hear it is pretty awful. The first one always is." Rude looked worried, _"Dolor_?" Tseng looked confused for a moment, and then he arched his eyebrows, understanding, "Pain? Yes, I think it will definitely hurt. I read that inhaled Mako causes muscles cramps, possible seizures." He could tell Rude wasn't understanding him, so he reached for the Mideel-Midgar dictionary they both frequently used, and searched for a few seconds before trying, _"En . . . Encalambres . . . _And, um . . . _Convulsiones_." Rude looked aghast, his light yellow eyes widened, _"Convulsiones, Zeng!? No quieren matar, o que!?" _Tseng chuckled at Rude's shocked expression, and shrugged, "If it were meant to kill us, there wouldn't be any Turks, would there?"

Rude nodded, still looking uneasy. Tseng got up, sighing, "Well, it's that time of the night . . ." The dark-skinned youth frowned, "You're leaving." The Wutaian grinned, "What, you'll miss me? That would make you the first, Rude." Rude looked puzzled, "But you are good person." Tseng shrugged, "I guess . . . But people here don't . . . I dunno . . . Anyway, see you tomorrow, Rude." He grinned, looking happy and scared at the same time, "Last day as normal humans! We have to celebrate, right?" Rude nodded soberly, and Tseng left, closing the door softly behind himself. Rude sighed; Tseng was his only friend here, it seemed. He didn't make fun of Rude's heavy Mideel accent, or his confusion when others spoke rapid Midgar dialect. He actually helped Rude with his language classes, and made the effort of meeting Rude halfway by using the dictionary as well, rather than just expecting Rude to understand him.

It worked both ways, Rude knew. He was aware of how people tended to avoid Tseng, as if he were roughly the same kind of savage Rude himself was considered to be. He had seen just how lonely Tseng often looked, whether having lunch by himself, or exercising at the training rooms, or sitting by himself in the Turk lounge. Tseng was strange to Rude's knowledge of people; that is to say, he was the first person from the West Continent of Wutai Rude had ever seen. He often found himself staring at Tseng's slanted eyes, only to shake his head and scold himself for it.

Rude was impatient to get his training, actually. Once he and Tseng had their Mako infusions, and their official uniforms, then people might start taking them seriously. They were not a mere flash in the pan. They were not token employees taking advantage of some affirmative-action gamble the executives had deployed. They were serious Turks.

At least, Rude needed his uniform. Tseng already had his. Rude was a bit too tall and stout for the ShinRa-supplied uniforms, and had been measured a few days earlier. They were supposed to be delivered the next day.

Taking care to carefully lock the door, and turning off lights as he went, Rude made his way to his bathroom. Glancing at his yellow eyes in the mirror, Rude smiled at his reflection, thinking in his language, "_What a piece of work! No wonder they look at you like you're about to murder someone! Tall dark and fearsome, that's what I am. And then the piercings. Good thing they haven't seen the tattoos . . . Then they'd be running away from me for sure!_" Rubbing his hands over his slightly stubbly head, Rude went to bed, only to lose half the night tossing and turning due to anxiety over the oncoming Mako procedure.

* * *

Elsewhere, in a damp forest of Wutai, Miyuki went to Shintaro, needing to tell him something important. He looked happy, relaxed: the guerrilla had just reached a remote village where they were seen as heroes. People had appreciated their courage, their commitment to ensure justice for the lives lost to ShinRa greed, and everyone threw open their doors, offering the men and Miyuki the basic comforts and amenities they had foregone for years now. Shintaro gestured Miyuki to come closer, embracing her when she approached him. She entwined her own arms around his waist, heard his voice resonate as he spoke, "They love us here. They know and appreciate what we're doing, Miyuki." She nodded, separating herself from him to look up at his face. He stroked her hair, his fingers sifting through the beautiful locks as he continued, "They want us to spend the next few months here, that it's suicidal to try to leave the village right now that the rainy summer season has started."

Miyuki looked away, eyes suddenly blazing bright as she dared hope for something that had been denied for her, for them both for such a long time now.

He caught some of her sense of urgency and asked, "What is it, Miyuki? Do you not wish to stay?"

She looked up to him again and told him, "I'm with child again, Shintaro. If . . . if we stay here for the next few months . . . Shintaro, I- _we_ could have this baby!"

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A/N: Dan dan daaaaan!!

OK, so here I hope to have established why Rude and Tseng are such good friends later on in DCiS, to have them making jokes and knowing each other very well. I promise we'll have some more Miyuki next time! I hope you're not too shocked, or confused. It'll make sense soon, I promise!

Also, I'm writing this to represent all the different values and cultural differences from place to place. If FFVII takes place in an alternate version of our own planet (Gaia, right?) then obviously there's going to be several different languages and cultures. The way I see it, and based on what was published by FFVII character creators in Ultimania, if Rude is supposed to be sort of South American in ethnographic origin, then I figure Mideel is sort of like Brazil or something, right? And what with Costa del Sol representing the Cancun, Yucatan thing, then the Spanish-Indian spoken there is similar to the Spanish-Brazilian spoken in Brazil, heh? I'm a geek, I know . . . please review, if only to tell me I wax poetic on random subjects and should stop?


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: W00t!! 2 chapters on the same day!!

Read and Review, please!

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_**Midgar, ShinRa Tower**_

The Mako intervention had been hellish, with injections of the green substance pushed into their veins. It had in fact given them terrible muscle spasms, fever, and Tseng had actually convulsed for a brief but terrifying moment, prompting nurses to watch over the two Turk recruits with a vigilant eye.

But hours had passed, and the men finally stirred from their disturbed and painful sleep.

"I didn't know you had tattoos, Rude . . ." Tseng hoarsely commented from the neighboring cot. Rude had taken his shirt off, feeling feverishly hot, and revealed an astonishing design of extensive tattooing along his back and shoulders. The tattoos were of a tribal design, inked in solid black, and formed a geometric pattern that went from the top of his back down to below his waist.

Rude sighed; while he still felt overheated, he was beginning to feel a bit better. "I have tattoos years now. You OK?" he asked, dark brow furrowed as he sat up, glancing at Tseng's yellowish pallor. The Wutaian snickered, "How can you get up already? I feel like there's a Chocobo stampede in my head." Rude looked confused, "Chocobo stampede . . ?" Tseng whistled between his teeth, giving a disturbingly accurate imitation of a Chocobo's happy trill. Rude looked aghast for a few seconds, but began to laugh. He had to stop quickly, though, as he began seeing spots before his eyes. Tseng groaned and retched, dry-heaving on his already empty stomach. Rude thought about what would help them through this insane stomach and body ache: his father's herbal tisane, an herbal tea that was almost unbearably bitter, but would cure all that ailed a person in half an hour. Thing was, he couldn't get up to get the necessary herbs to prepare it, not to mention he had no idea where he could get those herbs here in Midgar.

Tseng was breathing shallowly now, to ease his stomach, and Rude thought to distract him, "Dot on your head, tattoo?" The Wutaian nodded, "Since I was a little kid. A type of spiritual entrance ritual, even though I kinda lost my religion somewhere along the way." Rude yawned, feeling immensely tired yet unable to sleep with the muscle spasms and nausea. He asked, "Fear?" Not really understanding Rude's intentions, Tseng didn't know if he referred to fear for his current condition or fear for his lost spirituality. He answered to both, "Nah, I think we're over the worst of the Mako reaction. And again, nah. I don't really feel scared at not being spiritual at all. It's more like a sadness, like growing up and realizing a lot of things you thought were so important are all just make-believe." Rude was silent for so long Tseng thought he'd gone to sleep, but then came his deep voice, "Too young to think like that. Need more 'life experience', like Veld says." Tseng smiled in the dark at this small echo of the Turk's leader, "Maybe. I dunno."

He shuddered again, groaning quietly. Rude watched him, anxiously remembering a person he'd lost back in Mideel, someone so special to him it still hurt to think of him. Someone who had shuddered and vomited, groaned in pain Rude couldn't help him with. Rude had lied at his first interview, or perhaps not so much lied, as omitted something.

He hadn't always been an only child.

He had a younger brother who'd died of a rare, incurable disease, or at least, incurable according to their limited resources at his humble hometown. Rude's father had asked the ShinRa army garrison's help, but it had arrived too late, and his brother was lost. Rude had signed on to become a part of ShinRa Company a mere month after his brother's death. SOLDIER, Turk, it didn't matter to him what he ended up as, as long as he could speed up helpful processes to those who needed them most.

He hadn't really lied, then. His brother was dead, making him an only child by default.

* * *

Meanwhile in the Wutai jungle, Miyuki laughed happily and threw herself into Shintaro's arms. He'd said yes, he'd wanted her to have that baby! She was exuberantly happy, but terrified at the same time, and so was he, as he embraced the woman he'd introduced to these kind villagers as his consort, his common-law wife. Shintaro mused, "I must be crazy . . ." while petting her hair, while Miyuki laughed, crying a bit at finally redeeming herself of the other children she had cast out of her body in the previous years.

The announcement that not only was Miyuki pregnant, but that the guerrilla would take the villagers offer and remain in the village until the following spring was acknowledged with wild, happy cheers. A few of the men in the guerrilla group treated her differently, more respectfully, and the village children adored her, calling her "_O-nee san_" and following her whenever she went, although their mothers still somewhat resented Miyuki's joining the guerrilla and saw her as an unfit role model for the young girls.

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A/N: Hey, guys! I hope you've liked the story so far!!

I'm pleased to announce I'll be presenting in my University about the importance fanfiction reading and writing has to second-language learners. I submitted my proposal with some misgivings, thinking I would probably get passed over in favor of the more literary, scholarly projects, but lo and behold! Last week I got my confirmation letter, asking me to present!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys, here you go! Please review!

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Pregnancy was, for the most part, a positive thing for Miyuki. The villagers were very kind to her, and Shintaro was more attentive. Miyuki was very tall, so her belly didn't show until the worst of the rains passed, when by her count, she was at least 4 months along. And even then, Shintaro would tease, claiming that she looked like a pregnant string. Still, Miyuki knew his first priority would always be the guerrilla, as he bartered for information, sometimes leaving on information-gathering quests that had him away from her for weeks at a time.

And he always acted surprised when he found her, young and expecting their child.

Fall arrived, and with it the chill mornings, the dampness in the air. Miyuki had gotten ill with the damp, a fever coursing through her body, and she struggled against it with all her will, struggled to become healthy so her baby was well. The villagers helped, preparing teas and herbal medicines meant for her newborn to remain strong, for Miyuki herself to cast off the sickness like a veil and become her usual self again. The sickness left her weak, bedridden, and Miyuki had to spend the remainder of her pregnancy at the small hut she lived in, staying almost always in the room the old married couple who lived in the hut had given her and Shintaro. It began to snow, a deep freeze hung in the air.

It was the end of her pregnancy, and Shintaro often came to sit with her. The quality of his visits, however, couldn't be determined as easily. Sometimes he would stroke her hair, tell her news he'd found out, express his fervent belief that the baby would be a boy, tell Miyuki she was special to him, that he loved her.

And sometimes he would just sit and look at her, throwing out small verbal darts, that maybe Miyuki having the baby wasn't such a good idea. What would they do with the baby when the snows cleared and they left the village? Would they cart the baby around, would Miyuki suckle the child at her breast with one hand while holding the sniper gun in the other? These arguments often got heated, and the old couple sheltering them usually came in to break them up before the arguing got worse.

Until one day in early December. They had had one of those screaming matches, and once the head of the family drew Shintaro away, everyone acted as if this were like the usual times, but Miyuki felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. She gasped, eyes wide, looking at the old woman who sheltered her. The old woman knelt by Miyuki's side and without preamble, lifted her clothes. "Her water broke," she informed them all in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone.

Miyuki looked at Shintaro, who'd paled a bit as he stammered, "I'll go get the midwife." The old man went to get clean cloth and make the house ready for the midwife's visit, and the woman stroked Miyuki's forehead, "All that bad temper finally angered the baby. You be still now."

A few hours after that, and the pain Miyuki felt was unbelievable. She groaned, drops of sweat beading her forehead, and felt the sudden urge to push down hard. The midwife helped her sit up, and told her, "You need to give me good, solid pushes, no screaming or crying." Miyuki nodded, clamping her teeth against a terrific surge of pain. Shintaro stepped into the room on occasion, but hurriedly left once Miyuki began to bleed, crying with pain.

It was a long and difficult birth, but one great push and suddenly, Miyuki felt a large weight drop from her body into the waiting hands of the midwife. She panted harshly, trying to look at her newborn, but the midwife had rushed away from sight, wiping the baby clean. And finally, the baby drew a breath and began to cry in loud squalls. "You have a fine boy, Miyuki-san!" the midwife crowed, handing her the newborn, swaddled in a blanket. Miyuki laughed, in a daze. She couldn't believe this tiny, angry thing had come out of her body. Suddenly, Shintaro crashed into the room. With wild, wide eyes, he looked at the still-laughing Miyuki, saw her holding their newborn. "I have a son!!" he cried out, beginning to laugh crazily, "Miyuki has given me a son!" He ran out, cheering loudly, while Miyuki ignored him, staring at the newborn's face, letting the midwife put him to her breast. She watched this small bundle of life latch on, begin to suckle, and she shuddered to think she could've gone through all this years ago, thinking how happy her father would be, to know she had given birth to such an exceptional little boy, regardless of his disapproval of Shintaro and her involvement in the guerrilla.

And she knew this was a strong and most exceptional boy! A woman who cast out many unborn infants was believed to be unable to hold a baby full-term, and Miyuki had gone through half her pregnancy scared her body would betray her and she'd lose this pudgy little baby. She stroked his curled arms, his bowed legs, the delicate curve of his ear, grinning widely in delight that he was so beautiful, so complete and perfect, having such a good time meeting her son for the first time she didn't even feel the midwife finishing with the whole birth process, cleaning her. Miyuki sighed; the baby stopped suckling and fell asleep against her breast. She lay back with her baby sleeping on her chest, and murmured, "Little Katsuo . . . I love you so much . . ."

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A/N: Yay, Miyuki has a baby!! Yeah, so where's Katsuo now, in the years-later DCiS? Keep tuned!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Read and Review, please!

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Katsuo was six months old, and as adorable as he'd ever been. Miyuki slept with him always tucked to her chest, his soft, fragrant skin right under her chin. His eyes were dark like hers, his hair was baby-fine and black also, and Miyuki always kissed his tiny little hands, gently pulling his hands across her face, tracing the contours of her eyebrows, nose and mouth with that small hand. Katsuo was a curious infant, and he always followed her with her gaze, whenever she went. Miyuki had never felt about a human being the same way she felt about Katsuo. Not even the baby's father, Shintaro. Katsuo . . . the baby was like a piece of her, a piece of her soul, her heart.

And so it was that her heart was broken when Shintaro reasoned with her all the valid reasons for sending her infant son away to their home village at Sumida.

"Miyuki, you know we can't travel the way we do with Katsuo. It's too dangerous, his life will be at risk."

"What if we come under heavy enemy fire, Miyuki? What if we get hurt, or stranded?"

"What if he gets hurt, or sick, Miyuki? We won't be able to find him medicines in time, and you know it."

"Miyuki, do you want to quit the guerrilla? I won't; this is my cause, and I will finish what I started. You know your worth as a sniper, you know what you're capable of doing. Do you want to waste your talents, all the help you can give us?"

She sobbed, covering her ears against the onslaught of reasons, of arguments and explanations as to why, why she had to give up her infant son. Shintaro hugged her, feeling her quiver with her crying. He soothed her, stroking her back, pressing his lips to her fragrant hair, over and over again, until she acquiesced, "You're right. You're right. How will we send him, though? We're far from Sumida River." Shintaro wiped her face with his rough hands, explaining, "We'll head north. That will put us about 40 miles west of Sumida in a week. After that, we send Katsuo with Kitsune-"

"_No!_ Not Kitsune!" Miyuki wrenched herself away from Shintaro, repeating, "Not Kitsune, Shintaro! He hates me, he would do anything that caused me pain, I won't trust my son with him, if I have to make the journey to Sumida myself!"

Shintaro sighed; Miyuki and Kitsune had always hated each other since they first met, never minding that she was his wife, and Kitsune, his best friend. "Alright, Miyuki, alright. I'll send someone else. I thought of Kitsune because he's my best friend, and Katsuo is my child too; Kitsune wouldn't hurt Katsuo." Miyuki shook her head again, "Anybody but him, Shintaro, please. Please, if you've ever loved me, don't let Kitsune in charge of Katsuo." He frowned, "What's this, 'if I've ever loved you'? Miyuki, of course I love you." She turned away, eyes brimming with tears, "And yet you would have me willingly give up my biggest source of happiness."

Before he could open his mouth, she acknowledged, "I know, I know it's a good idea, I just don't like it, is all."

The next few weeks were grueling.

The guerrilla trekked northwards, snaking a course through the mountainous region. ShinRa camps were becoming increasingly frequent, even in this remote part of the country. Miyuki was bone-tired. It wasn't enough that she was traveling all these miles. She also had to tend to the men like she'd had to before having Katsuo, and she had to tend to the infant as well, barely getting any sleep as the baby began to squall in the middle of the night because of various discomforts: bug bites, the damp, the humid heat.

And then the day came, the day when Yagami would take her young son, take him to Shintaro's family in Sumida Village.

Miyuki had spent the last few hours with her son, memorizing his features, the soft texture of his hair, his skin. Listening to him gurgling, making nonsense syllables, waving his fat fists in the air. She explained to him that she'd be doing what was best for him, that she was sorry to see him go away, that she couldn't be there for his first word, his first steps, but she was working hard to help make a world where he could live freely, without the fear of bombings and assassinations.

Katsuo burbled and smiled at her, making the small sounds of impending hunger. Miyuki held him to her breast, thankful at least that Katsuo had never gone hungry, that he'd always had this one source of nourishment.

Suddenly, Shintaro came into the tent. He watched as Miyuki finished feeding their child, eyes heavy with remorse. He knew he was effectively breaking Miyuki's heart, but knew his logic was flawless. He saw the infant go to sleep, releasing his hold on her breast. Miyuki covered herself, put the baby to her shoulder. Her eyes were hard, defiant, as if daring Shintaro to pluck the child out of her arms. He sighed, trying, "Miyuki, Yagami's here. He brought a wet nurse with him, so Katsuo can be fed as he's supposed to." She nodded once, kissing the side of Katsuo's head. Shintaro realized that it wasn't defiance hardening her eyes, but the desperate determination of a young girl to not lose her nerve, her resolve, as something so precious was torn from her.

He stood, "Miyuki-" She gasped, holding the baby tighter, "N-No, not yet, I'm not ready!" Shintaro shook his head, "We never will be, not for this." He reached for the baby, who's woken up with Miyuki's fidgeting. He smiled at his father, making Shintaro's heart wrench in his chest, that there was a very real possibility that he'd die like Takeda, without even seeing his son to tell him goodbye. Miyuki pulled away from Shintaro's grasp, holding the baby with panicky tightness, making him begin to cry in fright, "No, _no,_ get away from me, I'm not ready for this, please, Shintaro!" He was relentless, jaw set in grim determination as he plucked the baby from her arms, giving her a shove back into the tent as he walked out.

"Shintaro! Give me my baby back! _Shintaro! Don't! Give him back!_" she screamed, trying to make her way past the other men in the guerrilla who suddenly stood between her and Shintaro. "Miyuki-san, please calm down!" said one of them, restraining her flailing arms. She watched how, despite her screams, Shintaro wrapped the baby more tightly in his warm clothes, trying to still the crying infant before handing him to Yagami, who looked at her, made eye contact with her, mouthing _I'm so sorry, Miyuki_ at her before melting into the forest, her baby's cries fading quickly into nothing, empty silence.

The men holding her back let her go, and she rushed past them, meaning to follow Yagami and reclaim her baby, but suddenly Shintaro was there, holding her tightly against him. She screamed and flailed at him, slapped him on the face hard enough for her hand to throb and burn, before slumping against him, crying in desolate heartache. Miyuki had never in her life cried like this; loud, wrenching sobs that were ripped out of her chest, an accurate sound that reflected the way she felt. Shintaro held her, a bit shocked by the strength of her mourning, that stinging slap to his face. Miyuki had never touched him in anger, lashed out like this. By all rights, he should have slapped her in return, and with interest: a woman was never supposed to rebel against her husband. What the man said was the law, and a good woman was always meek and obedient.

She'd never been meek and obedient.

And Shintaro found himself in the precarious situation of loving her enough to let her do the things she did. He just sighed and soothed her, "It'll be fine, Miyuki, he'll be fine, and grow up healthy and strong. It's not the last time we'll see him, I promise you we'll see him soon."

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A/N: So, maybe now you might understand the Miyuki I write in 'Dreams' a bit better; her anger and resentment, her complexities and contradictions. I'm focusing more on this story for the moment because I want this backstory to be available when I continue 'Dreams', as the end of that first huge arc will soon be here.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey, guys! Finally, an update, yeah? I'm sorry . . . getting a college degree is hard work!! But here's an update, and this serves as a bridge to a whole bunch of chapters I already have written out and waiting to be uploaded, so hopefully you'll get more updates outta me for the next few weeks – on both stories and at least one submission for the 'Karaoke' songfic collection.

And story-wise, here we get some of Rude's point of view. While the big guy doesn't talk as much as some people would like, there is absolutely nothing wrong with his mind, so here I tried to catch some of his insights. Also, I tried to get some insight into Veld's character. I'm aware that right now, the newer translations of 'Before Crisis' spell his name as 'Verdot', but I can't change all the previous chapters, so Veld it stays. Enjoy!

Read and Review, please!

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_**Midgar, ShinRa Tower**_

The trainings had been brutal. The physical exertion, the mental stress, the sheer effort it took to be a fully trained active Turk was staggering. There had been many sleepless nights, many missed meals, pain, discomfort, all to get to where they were right now. One whole year of this, the snide comments of those still skeptical of their progress and the boring missions, the having to go through Veld for the most trivial matter, the quick adaptation into the new lifestyle that demanded their constant vigilance.

"_Shit, it's almost worth it,_" Rude grinned, watching Tseng return with two tall, frosty beers. Sometimes it was good to forego the 'constant vigilance' thing. The Wutaian set the beers down and sat opposite Rude, taking a long, deep gulp of his drink. Once he set the beer down, however, Tseng's expression was tired, tense. "What's wrong?" asked Rude, eyeing his friend. Tseng had had such a hard time getting where he was he often acted overcautiously, too worried, too controlled. "_He doesn't laugh half as much as he did this time last year . . ._" Rude thought.

Tseng let out a small laugh and muttered, "Other than you venting wrath in the underground boxing matches?"

Rude snickered. It was true; he could very seldom find a sparring partner in ShinRa Tower, since people were intimidated by him, thought he'd snap them in half or something. Or maybe they were just plain xenophobic. So one time, Rude had ventured out into a slum area and ended up fighting with a bunch of people who objected to there being a Turk in their turf. And he'd liked it. So at least once every other week, Rude went to the slums to find an underground fighting ring. He knew Tseng worried; he couldn't help worrying. Rude knew Tseng imagined worse-case scenarios – guns, knives, a bunch of people ganging up on Rude, etcetera, etcetera, ad infinitum. "_Tseng's not a fighter, he's a strategist . . . He won't consider fighting, not if he can blow up the actual boxing ring with the fighters inside or something,_" Rude thought, smiling to himself at the thought of a cool, collected Tseng detonating a bomb instead of running in there to 'vent wrath' on the fighters. "_Pity. Tseng's a good fighter when he wants to be . . ._" Rude thought, remembering all the training sessions they'd done together. Nobody wanted to spar with Tseng either. "_Fear of the contagion of Wutai-ness or something . . . Racist bastards . . ._" Rude supposed.

"Yes, other than me 'venting wrath'. You're worried about something. Again," Rude muttered, taking a nice gulp of beer.

Tseng sighed, eyes downcast. He nodded, "We've been getting reports of subversive groups in Wutai . . . Nothing new, I suppose, but this one's different . . . it's taking down SOLDIERs." Rude arched his eyebrows. It had been years since the war in Wutai had started, and people were getting tired of it. First of all, it was unnecessary. ShinRa had made their point. Second, the death toll was surprisingly high: technical personnel, military, Turks, SOLDIERs and reporters had been lost to the cause on ShinRa's side, and needless to say, the Wutai had also sustained massive losses, more so than the impressively armed ShinRa offensive squads. Wutai had been brought to its knees through fire-bombing, assaults, 'negotiations' with Lord Godo Kisaragi that had been more on terms of 'give us what we want and we'll stop blowing up your rural villages'. It was bullying, and everyone knew it. But nobody wanted to stand up to ShinRa and attract their attention.

"_There are still actually people putting up a fight? That's either really impressive, or really stupid,_" Rude mused, and asked Tseng, "SOLDIERs? How are they managing that?"

Tseng finished his beer. His slanted eyes were half-closed, a self-effacing tic of his.

"_He's proud of them, of the guerrilla, but he doesn't want to admit it even to himself . . . __**especially**__ to himself . . ._" Rude smiled softly to himself as he prodded, "Tseng?"

The Wutaian Turk looked up and explained, "Sharpshooter. That guerrilla has a couple of snipers, but there's one that's actually become somewhat a hero to the villages around the area. Supposedly it's a woman." Rude whistled between his teeth, but anything he could have said vanished in an instant as Veld approached them. "_The old man looks happy,_" Rude noticed, affection tempering with deep respect he felt for his leader. And indeed, Veld smiled at them, sitting down opposite them. Tseng gaped, "S-Sir?! How'd you find us?"

Veld gave a short laugh, "Gave me some trouble, actually. But this really couldn't wait, and neither would it be good enough to just say so on the phone." Both young Turks looked at Veld curiously, and Veld smiled at them, "Congratulations, gentlemen. You are now cleared for independent missions. You can take chopper and other vehicles after a quick consult with me, you can offer instruction to rookies and take them on missions with you, and offer support to SOLDIER." The young men looked stunned, comically looking at each other before looking at Veld again. The older Turk laughed, "What, you thought you'd be rookies forever? You're moving up. You've done good for yourselves this last year, worked hard. Tseng, you managed to become a good team-worker despite other people's apprehension and have become quite the brilliant strategist, and Rude, your adaptation into this lifestyle has been nothing short of miraculous. Good job, both of you."

He got up, "And needless to say, there is a corresponding raise to your salaries and benefits. But it's not all money and gains; you get more responsibilities now."

Tseng stammered, "W-Wait, sir, don't leave-"

Rude nodded, "Have a beer with us!"

Tseng gaped at Rude, who looked a bit shocked at what he just said.

Veld smiled at his two most promising Turks and gave a nod, "Alright, fine. I'll let you guys buy me a drink."

A couple of beers later, Rude and Tseng had forgotten their initial awkwardness at having a drink with their boss. They'd talked about work, weapons, things important to them, and Veld asked, "I noticed you looked serious before I got here. What were you guys talking about?"

Tseng explained, "I was telling Rude about the guerrilla in the Sumida region in South Wutai." Rude nodded.

Veld resisted an urge to smile at Rude's sunglasses. Rude had always encountered people's apprehensions from several factors: his heavy Mideel accent early on (barely noticeable since he so seldom spoke, and because he'd had help from Tseng), his sheer size (not a problem, because once you got to know him, the huge, muscle-bound man was a caring friend), because of the tattoos and piercing (he couldn't help those – Rude was ethnic Mideel, and had grown up in a village where tattoos and piercings were customary) and because of the shades. Now, that last one couldn't be helped; it was Rude's personal obsession. Rude was much larger than the average Turk, and the dose of Mako given to him had been more similar to the dosing of a SOLDIER than a Turk. And Rude had naturally greenish-yellow eyes.

Lighter-colored eyes reacted more brightly than dark ones to the Mako, and the end result was that Rude's eyes looked bizarrely shiny, especially in contrast to his dark skin.

Still, Veld acknowledged, "Ah, the hero sniper. You know those villages are intensely protective of that guerilla group? Lazard has sent SOLDIERs to cover the area, scouting, asking around, and everybody develops amnesia when talking about the group."

The Turks looked at their drinks thoughtfully for a few seconds before Veld added, "Which proves that to do the job right, you need the right people. I sent a team of three Turks over there, one to assist the SOLDIER scouts, one to ask in several villages and one to follow a trail we found."

Having piqued the young men's interest, Veld continued, "I got two of them back. The one following the trail vanished . . . he's presumed dead by now. But he left a valuable wealth of information; he essentially located the guerrilla for us. His last transmission to me was their estimated location and a likely hiding place in a mountainous region nearby. Heidegger is sending additional scouts over there, try to flush them out. The one they want the most is the sniper, though. She's the truly lethal one there."

The waitress arrived with another round of drinks.

Tseng asked, "So it's really a woman?" Veld nodded and looked pensive for a few seconds, and he quietly told his Turks, "She's good. She's extremely good. If I told you I'm currently negotiating with Lazard, Heidegger and President ShinRa over taking her in as a Turk, what would your thoughts be?"

The young men looked at each other, silent for several seconds before Rude turned back to Veld, ". . . You would have to have a very good reason for this, sir."

Tseng agreed, "Yes. If she's expressly anti-ShinRa now, how will we turn her into a Turk? What if she turns on us?"

Veld sipped his drink, taking his time to reply. "First of all, she's going to get caught. That is a given. And once she is, she will have two options: join Turks or be executed for multiple murders, even murders she hasn't committed. She'll be the Wutai scapegoat. It is my sincere hope she'll choose to live; she's an extremely talented young woman. She's taken shots nobody else could, in conditions completely unfavorable, as proven by the Turk tailing the group. For three weeks, our guy trailed them, and at every stop, the group would remain while she went out. Three times, and three SOLDIERs and ten MPs were killed. Now imagine what she could do with good telescopic lens, materia, a quality rifle, and Turk training. She'll be a powerhouse."

"As to earning her loyalty, I suppose I am, to some degree, banking on you gentlemen. Both of you suffered from marginalization; sometimes you still do. And this young woman, should she accept, will be very much mistreated by the personnel here. Higher-ups, other Turks, SOLDIERs, everyone will have something to say to her. But as you two have proven, a little help goes a long way. Rude never hated you for being Wutaian, and Tseng never felt it was a hardship to teach you the Mid-Con language," Tseng gestured at each man before ending, "And you have formed a two-man team that has achieved considerable progress in just one short year."

Tseng and Rude assented Veld's words. They were true, certainly, but it was also true that this woman had killed of their own. One thing both men had seen was how fiercely the ShinRa armed forces defended one another within each group. If someone killed a SOLDIER (or a Turk, for that matter), there was no way to way to integrate a person into that same group. If this guerrilla sniper had killed Turks, she would have a terrible time fitting in. Everybody would hate her, push her away.

But Tseng and Rude didn't particularly feel that way. They were loyal to each other, and to Veld, for the same reasons Veld had mentioned earlier. Veld had been the only one to give them a chance. And Tseng and Rude had been all each other could count on when they first got started in the Turks.

Veld had played his cards right; already he could see the men become thoughtful, already considering this woman's presence among them. He smiled and stood up, "Now I really must leave, gentlemen. I'm needed elsewhere first thing in the morning." A small lie; all Veld had to do now was to review the case file concerning the guerrilla sniper, and consider possible interpreters in case the SOLDIERs really did succeed in flushing her out of her hiding place.

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A/N: Veld's a sneaky bastard, LOL! But seriously, he's the master right now. Tseng has yet to become the mastermind he is later on. Hope you liked it! Review, please!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Brendan, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys, here you go! A bit of warning, though – there's some xenophobia here, and violence, rough treatment of women. The usual when two very different countries are at war. But on a more positive note, the two story-lines in this fic finally unite.

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4 years after the Wutai war

A year after her child was taken

She'd taken down her target, uneasy because there had been strong SOLDIER presence there. Helicopters had been constantly flying over her head, but she knew she could easily hide from them in the lush forest. What she wanted to do now that her job was done was to get to her safe point. Miyuki heard noise ahead, and careful maneuvering revealed to her that it was a SOLDIER scouting unit. "_Judging from their uniforms, they look like First Class . . . Guess I'm officially a force to be reckoned with . . ." _Miyuki thought, a small, grim smile on her face.

She also thought of Katsuo, that last time she'd seen him. Her son was growing: he was a year old already. She'd insisted on seeing him before this last mission, and Shintaro had accompanied her. Shintaro's family, including her son, had moved away from Sumida Village, heading for a village further north. Miyuki remembered clearly how he'd stared at her through huge eyes, curious, a half-remembered gesture of his to touch her hand when she got close to him. He had forgotten her, it being so long since she'd last seen him, but she had gone to her mission with a clear conscience, knowing that the ShinRa were beginning to leave Wutai alone, that they'd already won the war, and were heading home.

She'd be back to the village to reclaim her son very soon.

Truth was, Miyuki found she didn't even care for the war anymore. All she wanted was her baby. True, she wanted her baby to grow up safe, in a world without bombs dropping out of the sky to obliterate him, but she hated having to live in the jungle while her son was so far from her all the time. Already he didn't quite remember her; if she took much longer as a guerrilla sniper, she might as well give him up, and that she wasn't willing to do. She resolved to confront Shintaro about this after she got back, Miyuki thought, as she struck out in the direction of her camp.

An hour later, she'd encountered two more scouting units. Slowly but surely, they were locking her in to a small but densely wooded area. She began to get scared, running out of places to hide, already unable to escape from them into another area without coming in plain sight of the men. One of the SOLDIERs received orders from a small radio, and the men began spraying the woods with flames, using Fire spells to flush her out.

Muttering a quick mutter that was half swear and half prayer, she ran out, trying to use the smoke and her own slight frame and speed to elude them, but one of the SOLDIERs grabbed her. His grip was reflexive, and so strong Miyuki gasped as his fingers dug painfully into her flesh, jabbing her in the sensitive place between bicep and bone. She struggled hard, nonetheless; few other SOLDIERS had noticed she'd been caught. She could get away, cause confusion if she managed to disable the man holding her-

Another SOLDIER had noticed, though, and hit her over the brow with the butt of his gun. Miyuki slumped, unconscious, and the SOLDIERs had their prey.

Miyuki came to hours later, moaning weakly. Her head throbbed, her left eyelid felt heavy and sticky with her own blood. She tried to clear her eye of the gunk, but couldn't, and she realized she was tied to the floor. Rough ropes encircled her wrists, and the ropes led down to an iron ring on the floor. "Oh, hey, the little butterfly woke up" drawled a voice nearby. Miyuki whipped her head to look at the speaker. It was the SOLDIER who'd struck her.

Another voice answered, "About time, too. Big Papa was starting to get worried about not having any fun with his little butterfly."

It was the SOLDIER who'd caught her. Miyuki looked at him, not understanding what they were saying in their foreign language. She did, however, recognize the fiendish lust in the SOLDIER's eyes. It was the same violently lustful gaze the other men in the guerrilla often gave her when Shintaro wasn't around. The man who'd first spoken got up, "I'll leave you to it then, man, but I'd hurry, if I were you. Apparently the Turks want this one too."

The man left, and the SOLDIER smirked, "What is it about you slanty-eyed yellow people that the Turks like you so much? This week this kid got promoted, looks just like you, but with this weird little dot on his head. You don't have a dot, do you, sweetheart? Other than that sexy little mole on your mouth? If you do, I'll find it." He got closer, and Miyuki curled her legs up, drawing her knees up to her chest. She made a low sound in her throat, a sound of loathing, fear and anger.

The man grabbed her legs and easily pulled them down, then, using her knees, he slowly pried her legs apart. Miyuki tried to struggle, but laying almost flat on her back with her hands tied down, there wasn't much she could do. She whimpered desperately as the man nudged himself between her legs, grabbing her butt to lift her as he tried to slip her legs around his powerful hips. His hands still on her butt, the man began to grind against her, and Miyuki could feel the firm bulge of him pressing against her. She squirmed, trying to place her feet on the floor, to try to push herself away from the man, but couldn't get the leverage she needed.

The man pawed at her chest with violent hands, ripping her shirt open. She wore no bra, not only because she was a fairly poor countrywoman, but also because- "Oh, honey, you got small tits . . ." the SOLDIER grumbled, roughly grabbing her breasts with his coarse hands. "Too bad, really, but I'm not really interested in those right now. . ." he teased, giving her breasts another sadistic squeeze before leaning forward, leaving her chest exposed.

He licked her mouth, and Miyuki pressed her lips together, groaning loudly. He kept trying to kiss her, grinding hard against her, the bulk of his body squeezing the air out of her, until Miyuki had to open her mouth for a breath. The SOLDIER took the opportunity, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Miyuki screamed into his mouth and reflexively head-butted him, not hurting him at all but giving her some room to quickly do something that did. She bit his salty cheek, feeling her teeth sink in, the briny blood filling her mouth. The man screamed and gave her three hard slaps. The last slap was backhanded and angled upwards. Miyuki felt her nose begin to bleed freely under the blow, the blood seeping through the back of her throat, choking her.

The Wutaian sniper was dazed by the hard blows, and became limp. The man decided against raping her, at least for the moment, and instead decided to bring her back to consciousness by ensuring none of his men were shot down by her talented sniper hands. "Psst, hey, butterfly, wake up, honey . . . Let's make sure you don't shoot anyone for the time being, shall we?" he said, taking one of her hands. He grabbed one of her fingers, the index finger, the finger usually used to squeeze on a trigger, and pulled it back, twisting it in its socket. Miyuki stirred, in pain but still stunned. The finger finally gave and dislocated with a sharp snap.

Miyuki screamed and tried to pull back, but she was no match for the SOLDIER. He grabbed her other hand, and again grasped her index finger, "Just in case you're ambidextrous, sweetheart," and began to pull and twist, slower now since she was awake. Miyuki hyperventilated as the pain blurred her vision. Her finger was bent at an unnatural angle, but hadn't yet come out of place. The man stopped what he was doing, keeping her finger bent, "Having fun, butterfly?"

She spit into his face.

The man scowled in anger and harshly pulled her finger backwards, truly dislocating it. Miyuki screamed again, and succeeded in bracing a foot against his chest. She pushed him back, but it wasn't nearly enough. Again the man slapped her, just once this time, but hard enough that she almost blacked out, felt her nose break with a sickening, crunching sound.

She vaguely recognized that she was being positioned again, the SOLDIER again putting her unresisting legs around him. He again grabbed her hand, her right hand. "Now, I know you people are all ingenious and such. I wouldn't want you to learn how to shoot with another finger . . . so I guess we'll just have to break your thumb then, won't we, butterfly?" He began pulling and twisting her thumb. Miyuki gasped and feebly tried to pull her hand away, her vision blurred, her mind disoriented from the force of that last blow to her face.

The man was interrupted when the first SOLDIER came back into the room. Casting the bleeding, whimpering young woman a contemptuous glance, he warned the other SOLDIER, "The Turks are here. They got an interpreter and want to speak to your little toy. What the hell happened to your face?" The SOLDIER opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as Veld and the interpreter came into the room. Both SOLDIERs recognized Veld on sight, but the young man next to him was unknown. He was Wutaian, and had a small black dot on his forehead.

He looked about the same age as the bleeding, weakly coughing girl, and his dark gray eyes were both shocked and terribly angry.

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Author's Note: I purposely left Shintaro out of this, since this is when Miyuki's opinion of him begins to change over what she sees as abandonment on his part. Here's when we see the genesis of our favorite 'crabby bitch' (Reno's term).


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys, here you go! This is more Rude and Tseng centric for now, since Miyuki is out in Wutai doing her thing, might as well have some exposition on the boys from way back when, right? Enjoy, Read and Review, please!

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The SOLDIER opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as Veld and the interpreter came into the room. Both SOLDIERs recognized Veld on sight, but the young man next to him was unknown. He was Wutaian, and had a small black dot on his forehead. He looked about the same age as the bleeding girl. "She bit me, look . . ." the SOLDIER tried to blame the sniper for the abuse she'd received, answering to Veld's harsh scrutiny. But with the bleeding, dazed girl still with her legs lying limp around his hips, he didn't make much of a case for himself. The Wutaian youth's face was momentarily contorted with sympathy for the girl, and he looked at Veld, silently asking for permission to approach her. Veld told the SOLDIER, "Compose yourself, Gamnan, and leave us. This prisoner is no longer under your jurisdiction."

The SOLDIER shrugged and carelessly flung Miyuki's legs away from himself as he stood. He insolently smiled at the Turks and left, his companion trailing behind. Veld nodded at Tseng, "Go to her. I'll wait outside." Tseng knelt at her side, pulling her tattered shirt together, tying it with a loose piece of fabric, to give her a sense of propriety. He almost laughed; the girl had been beaten, tortured and nearly raped, but he was worried she'd yell at him for looking at her bare chest.

She'd come to full consciousness when the other men departed, and now she looked at Tseng, eyes widening as she recognized his suit. Tseng asked, in quiet Wutaian dialect, "Could I untie you?"

Miyuki retorted, her anger making the Wutaian syllables jab him like sharp darts, "How could you join them? They've destroyed so much of our country, our people, and you've joined them?!" The prisoner spoke in the coarser Wutaian of the mountains. Tseng could only barely understand her, and knew she'd have trouble understanding him, who spoke the Northern Wutai dialect. Also making her more difficult to understand was the way she spoke; her voice shook in ferocity and emotional hurt upon seeing her Wutaian brother wear the colors of ShinRa, and Tseng looked away, unable to answer her satisfactorily. He heard her sniffle, and looked up to find her silent tears had cut clean paths in her otherwise dirty cheeks.

"_God, she's so young! She seems to be my same age!_" Tseng marveled, looking at the downed sniper, "_I thought she'd be older, or not really a woman, or something. Hey wait, she's scolding me!_"

"I-I . . . I'm just trying to survive . . . you don't understand . . . I want to protect someone . . ." Tseng tried to explain.

Miyuki hissed "Don't give me excuses! You're a traitor to our nation, no better than the dog who slobbered on my face not long ago!"

Tseng flared up then, "You're wrong! I have my reasons for doing what I've done, and you're not one to judge me." Miyuki looked away from him, shaken from her conviction against the Turk. He spoke in a frank manner, and she could tell he was around her same age, though his eyes were unguarded, his expression still that of a younger man. Miyuki winced as Tseng cut the ropes binding her. The cruel ropes had bitten into her skin, leaving welts of sore flesh around her wrists. Tseng drew in a quick breath at the sight, and tried to pull the ropes off as gently as he could.

The moment her hands were loose, she pulled them to her chest, bending over them.

"My name's Tseng. Tseng Iwamura, actually, but Turks don't use last names." He began slowly reaching out for one of her hands, "Please, let me set your fingers right." Her face contorted; the pain would be bad, as her articulations had swollen up. But still, she knew it was best to set her fingers before too much time passed, and she allowed Tseng to take one of her hands. "This will hurt. I'm sorry, there's not much I can do." She nodded and began to hyperventilate to steady herself against the pain. When he deemed her ready, Tseng gave no warning, but instead pulled and twisted her finger. It snapped into place with an audible pop that was drowned out in Miyuki's loud groan.

Tseng gave her a moment to catch her breath, and took her other hand. She tried to pull away but Tseng was the stronger, "It has to be done, you know that!" Again he pulled and twisted, no warnings issued. Miyuki cried out and feebly hit him on the arm and shoulder, trying to push him away. After a minute or so where Miyuki sobbed for breath, Tseng sighed and gestured towards her face, "Your nose also needs to be set."

Miyuki grumbled wearily, "Why is everything pain to you ShinRa people? It's as if you thrive on it." Tseng looked at her, perplexed. It was as if she was denying him his Wutaian heritage, from the way she said it, '_you ShinRa people'_.

Miyuki caught his look, a cold, unapologetic look in her black eyes, and took a deep breath, "Go ahead then, do what you have to."

It hurt less than her fingers, strangely enough, but it started bleeding again. Tseng cast a low level Cure on her, and while it stopped the bleeding, it didn't do much to alleviate her pain. "It's only half-way set correctly. A nurse or doctor will do it properly once we get them over here," he said, knowing he hadn't done a very good job setting her nose (Turks were so much better at breaking things than at setting them right.) Miyuki hadn't apparently heard. "So I guess you ShinRa people want something from me, otherwise I'd still be that SOLDIER's pet, right?" she asked, sitting on the floor in a more comfortable position.

Tseng sat across from her and nodded, "Yes. The executives in charge here have decided you're too dangerous to be left alive. ShinRa wants you to work for them as a Turk, in exchange for a pardon. If you refuse . . ." he trailed off, and Miyuki finished for him, "I'll be executed, right?"

Again Tseng nodded, gray eyes solemn as he told her, "By noon tomorrow at the latest." The implicit threat, that once the Turks left, Miyuki would be at the mercy of the SOLDIERs, hung in the air like a noxious fume.

Miyuki was silent.

When Tseng prodded for a response, she asked him to go away, to give her time to think things through. But before he left, she said, "Harada Miyuki." Tseng looked at her. She bowed her head slightly, "My name."

Tseng gave her a small smile, "I'm glad to know your name." She heaved an exhausted breath, and looked to the door, then at him.

Tseng acquiesced, and upon exiting, told Veld "She's thinking on it . . ."

Veld saw how disturbed Tseng seemed, and asked, "Are you alright?"

The young Wutaian Turk was loathe to answer that question just yet. "Sir . . . I know she's a prisoner and all . . . but . . ." he trailed off, unable to look at his superior.

Veld patted him on the shoulder, "The guards currently holding her custody have been relieved of their duties. She'll be transferred to another location within this compound, and she'll be looked over by the medical staff there. Does that help?"

Tseng looked up then, a chagrined smile on his face, "Yes, sir, it does. Thank you."

Veld led him out of the room and out of the facility. "You did good, Tseng," Veld reassured what was probably his most talented Turk yet, "Now let's just hope she agrees. It would be a shame if her life and talents go to waste."

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A/N: And here's where Miyuki makes the choice that changed her life, for better or worse. Please review! I thrive on comments!


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Miyuki's situation is getting desperate! Read and Review, please!

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Tseng went to the airship's bay, where he'd be spending the night. His partner asked, "You OK, Tseng?"

Tseng looked at the tall youth who'd spoken, "Hi, Rude. Yeah, I'm fine. It was just . . . much more difficult than I thought. She's so different from what I am, what I've always thought I was."

Rude sighed through his nose, "I'm sorry to hear that, although it really just boils down to what exactly do you consider yourself to be."

Tseng smiled to himself. Rude had been initially embarrassed by his heavy Mideel accent when he first started in the Company, and had very seldom spoken to anybody except Veld, a few trusted coworkers. And Tseng.

And when Rude had something to say, it was often insightful, thoughtful.

Rude continued, "But, what did she say?"

The Wutaian youth shook his head, "She wants some time to think it over. But I honest to God hope she'll take the chance. She's . . . she's had a difficult life, she has her ideals, her goals. Aside from the technical stuff, how good a sniper she is, it's not what's on my mind right now."

Rude gave him a sympathetic look, his gleaming, yellowish olive-green eyes fixed on his friend, "Well, here's hoping. Get some rest, though. Got a long flight tomorrow." Tseng nodded, but he slept uneasily that night, going over what the sniper had told him. Was saying that he joined the Turks to protect Aerith a lame excuse? Was it hypocrisy to join ShinRa Company to protect her from ShinRa Company?

Was he truly a coward, a traitor to his country?

It wasn't like him to mull things like these over, simply because he'd never thought much about them. Now that the young woman had brought it up, Tseng could recall several instances in which he'd been slighted because of his ethnicity. Racial slurs when he was a boy, a certain unfairness whenever he was dealt with in school, and most recently, the obstinate refusal of the ShinRa higher-ups to allow his promotion, despite a faultless mission record and amazing scores on all his Turk exams and trainings.

And even then, he hadn't thought much about it, because he'd been living in Midgar since he was a small child, going to Wutai only to visit his grandparents every few years, much less frequently since his parents died. He thought, spoke and acted like a Midgar citizen, not as a Wutaian. His parents had moved to Midgar because of the declining economic situation in Wutai, and to give him, Tseng, better chances at a full and happy life, not one of either a farmer or a warrior.

In the end, though, he fell into an uneasy sleep, and the following morning he awoke unrested, unrefreshed. The next day, Veld seemed a bit taken aback at Tseng's attitude deterioration. He hadn't wanted to bring Tseng here because he imagined something like this might happen, but he'd had no idea the change would be so harsh, so drastic.

After a few minutes of watching the troubled young man slide his breakfast around his tray, Veld commented, "It was wrong of me to have brought you here for this. I'm sorry."

Tseng looked up, a faint flush of embarrassment creeping up his pale cheeks as he stammered, "U-uh, no, sir, not at all. There was no other interpreter available on such short notice, and either way, I'm glad to be of service." Veld gave Tseng a reassuring smile, but it was tinged with sadness. Here was yet another young person whose life he was making harder than it should be. But being a Turk was a hard job that demanded hard individuals.

If they didn't do an amazing amount of toughening up, of growing up, so to speak, in a very short time, they were doomed to an early grave.

Even so, Veld had very high hopes for Tseng. Having had the second greatest score in a decade in his entrance exams, Tseng had proven to be a generally well-rounded individual, very capable in all areas in which it was expected for a Turk to be good at. He was a discreet, hard worker whose only tangible fault seemed to be his temper. He occasionally made cutting remarks to teammates, or snapped at them. Sometimes he felt bad about it, but sometimes he didn't, instead feeling justified in his actions.

Other teammates had also complained that they often saw the young Wutaian as cold and distant. In the end, however, these were flaws that could be controlled or modified through training, and Veld had an idea he was looking at his eventual successor. Rude greeted the men, sitting close to have his own breakfast. Another promising young man, Veld recognized that, while maybe Rude wasn't cut out for leadership, he always did the right thing, and would follow Tseng as a loyal supporter and second-in-command. He and Tseng had begun their Turk admission process the same week, and did most other trainings together. They had always helped each other out, Tseng with his intelligence, Rude with his raw power.

Veld held very high hopes for both of them.

Some time earlier, at another part of the military facility, Miyuki had started to grow desperate. She'd asked for Tseng hours ago, before midnight, wanting to talk more about what her options were on becoming a Turk. But the SOLDIERs guarding her had heard of her biting Gamnan, about the Turks wanting to take her from them, and had feigned ignorance to her pleas. She'd grown more agitated by the hour, pleading with the SOLDIERs, who merely laughed and taunted her. She would die, and all because these men hated her race, felt they had to defend their companion, even if said companion was an abusive bigot. Suddenly Miyuki heard the airship engines powering up, and had decided to do something desperate. _"I'm going to get killed anyway; might as well go out with a bang"_ was her last thought before she performed her last-ditch attempt at life.

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A/N: _Hisashiburi, ne?_

Some stuff I thought I'd mention – I hop I'm doing a good job at keeping the relationship between Rude and Tseng realistic. They just do so little talking in the game!! But anyhow, I hope you liked it, and please, gimme reviews!


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Enjoy!

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Rude looked at his watch. Time was up for the sniper, who'd sent no reply during the night or the early morning. He could tell Tseng was disheartened by this, but was resolved to not let anyone see this weakness as he gathered his things and followed Veld out of the garrison. As the small military airship they were traveling in finished powering up and set to go, however, a young Wutaian messenger had arrived at a run, calling out loudly for the Turks. When Veld identified himself as the Turk Commander, the young man wheezed, saying there was a demon loose in the prisoner area, a demon that demanded a Turk named Tseng be brought to it. Tseng, Rude and Veld rushed to the unit where the messenger had informed him Miyuki was being held in. They were quickly hurried in by the SOLDIERs, who seemed furious and worried. Inside the holding area, all was chaos. Two SOLDIERs lay prone in the ground and one screamed as he held his broken jaw.

The rest had their guns trained on Miyuki, but were unable to shoot her because she had a half-conscious SOLDIER in front of her.

The way she gripped his jaw in one hand and his hair in the other was the posture used to snap a neck. She was bleeding from a new gash in her head, her hair plastered to her skull. Her eyes were swollen and bruised, and her nose had begun to bleed again, which meant her broken nose was healing naturally. No one had re-set her nose or used Materia to cure her as Veld had asked for.

The change in her was remarkable. The previous night she'd been sad, angry, but still very much in control of herself and articulate.

Now she seemed like an animal in a trap, her eyes darting around, trying to keep all the SOLDIERs in sight. She breathed in quick, sharp gusts, punctuating the noise around her with an occasional yell in Wutaian. Her teeth were bared in a snarl.

Tseng yelled out in Wutaian, "Stop! Please stop! I'm here, talk to me!" She snapped her head around to the sound of his voice, and upon seeing him, she screamed laughter, and more than one man that night dreamed of that laugh, a strange, unnerving mix of near-madness, desperation and disbelief. "Please, please don't hurt him!" Tseng began negotiating with her. He had very limited negotiation skills, as when Turks were called in, the time of negotiation had long since passed. Still, he tried, "Let's talk this out. What is it you want?"

Miyuki began anxiously looking at the SOLDIERs, who'd crept in like shadows while she'd been distracted by Tseng. "Keep them away! I'll kill him if they come any closer!" she screamed, yanking the man's head in a snapping gesture. The man groaned feebly. Tseng called out to the Commanding Officer for the SOLDIERs there, "Get away from her! I'm trying to talk to her but she's scared of your men, move them back!" The SOLDIER Commanding Officer scowled at Tseng, "No fucking way, Turk. That crazy bitch has attacked several men in my unit, and she's holding one of them hostage. We're taking no more chances."

Veld was watching the stand-off from a distance, seeing her desperate reaction to the approaching men. Rude himself hadn't even tried to approach her, instead running to the surveillance room, to monitor the SOLDIERs. Veld, meanwhile, tried to help Tseng, telling the CO "She's getting desperate, Lieutenant. You don't want to risk her going berserk." The Lieutenant shook his head, "My guys are taking her out first chance they get." The SOLDIERs surrounding Miyuki took another step forward and Miyuki whimpered and took a step back, making the helpless man's back bend backwards. Tseng heard Rude through his earpiece, "Tseng, it's not looking good. More of them are headed this way."

Tseng didn't answer, instead focusing on the SOLDIER Miyuki held, who cried out in pain, and Miyuki reaffirmed her grip on his head, wincing in pain as she forced her hurt fingers to comply with her will. Her brows knit as her eyes darted around the room, seeing the other SOLDIERs who began streaming in. Gamnan was among them, the cheek she'd bitten the previous night already healed with the Materia they'd refused her. A new wave of anger washed over her; they'd healed Gamnan, a bigot, torturer and attempted rapist whose pride was more hurt than he was, and they'd refused to heal her, who'd been the victim of dislocated fingers and a broken nose. Miyuki growled low in her throat, her mouth set in a determined line.

She was going to kill the man.

"CALL THEM DOWN NOW!" Tseng roared at the Lieutenant, and apparently he saw the same thing Tseng did in her desperate face, because he grunted, "Step back, men. Let the Turk negotiate for our hostage." The men stepped back, guns still drawn. Miyuki's eyes darted around, a pair of tears escaping her eyes.

"Please, help me, Tseng! What will I do? Help me, please! I called for you hours ago, I called for you and you never got the message because they never gave you the message, please, Tseng, please help me, I don't want to be shot like this, like a goddamn animal, please!" she babbled in rapid Wutaian, eyes still darting around frantically. Tseng looked at the SOLDIERs, furious. But the time for reprisals wasn't now, and he turned to Miyuki, "Listen to me. I'm sorry this happened. Please, when I give you the word, release the man. I won't let the SOLDIERs shoot you, because I'll be close to you. Can I get closer?"

Miyuki swallowed and nodded, a few more tears escaping her eyes. Tseng got closer, calling out over his shoulder, "She's giving up the hostage when I get to her. Don't shoot. She's agreed to our offer, sir, and only wants safe passage to Midgar." Veld acknowledged, "Tell her she has it; that she's safe." The Lieutenant made a disgruntled sound, and Veld spoke to him, "Lieutenant, we're here under direct orders from President ShinRa to get this woman to Midgar. Please, let us do our job, so you can do yours. The moment she's secure and unhurt, we'll be out of here and out of your way." The Lieutenant sighed and instructed his men, "SOLDIERs, stand down. Withdraw your weapons. This is the Turk's job now."

The men obeyed, though they cast malevolent glances at Tseng and Veld, but mostly at Miyuki. How could this tall, skinny 19 year old girl cause them so much trouble?

Miyuki gave a watery laugh upon seeing the men reholster their weapons, and looked at Tseng, who was by then at her side. He nodded at her, "Let go now, and stand behind me." She did, pushing the SOLDIER away from her and huddling behind Tseng's body. He felt her grab his jacket, burrowing her head between the wide bones in his back, her whole frame shivering. Feeling her distress, her admission of vulnerability and implicit trust that he would keep her safe made Tseng begin to feel a type of affection for her.

Tseng watched carefully at the men, looking for any insurgent, anyone who wanted to be a hero bad enough to disobey a direct order. The men seemed sullen but resigned, and Tseng began moving towards the exit, shielding her as much as he could with his own frame. Veld joined them, and soon they had Miyuki safe in the airship. Once the airship began to gain altitude, Miyuki broke down crying. So many things had happened in the last 24 hours, and she trembled in disbelief. She'd truly expected to be shot down, but had survived. She'd been in dire danger for the past 16 hours, and now this young countryman of hers told her she was safe.

But at what cost? She'd sold her soul to the devil, it seemed. She was alive, but would end up servicing the Company she had wanted to destroy. She was selling herself, like the women who made a handsome living working on their backs, laid bare for the SOLDIERs to enjoy. Veld left them alone, to call ahead to Midgar and to report to Heidegger the status of their mission.

Miyuki was the very picture of misery, with her swollen hands and face, the blood already dried to a sticky paste on her face and neck. Tseng had no idea how to make her feel any better, because there were so many things wrong with her. She was obviously frightened, her future uncertain. That she was in intense physical pain was also clear, as she hadn't been healed at all. For all that, Tseng knew her suffering was at its most painful in the emotional aspect. She was leaving behind everything she'd ever known. She'd been in danger of being raped, of being killed. She'd suffered torture and bigotry, and all so she could continue to live working for a Company she hated. Even if Tseng knew this, recognized it with cool detachment, he couldn't relate to her. He'd been raised too differently; his standards and values were unlike hers.

Still, that was no reason to let her suffer like this.

Tseng heard someone clear their throat, and looked back at Rude, his teammate. The young man looked very intimidating, what with the Turk uniform, his sunglasses, his shaved head and the multiple earrings he sported. Yet, for all that, Tseng had never known a milder, more loyal person. Veld called for Tseng, and the young Turk looked at his companion. Rude gave him a silent nod, and Tseng left. Rude sat opposite Miyuki, who seemed to be afraid of him, looking at him through huge, dark eyes, still crying. Rude gave her a sympathetic look, and gestured at her face, "Your nose is set wrong. Do you want me to fix it before I heal you?"

She was scared of this man. She recognized his quiet tone as sincere, not an act, but he was so intimidating, so big, that she shook her head.

Rude knew he was scaring her, damned if he could help himself. He tried again, "Please. I mean you no harm." Again she shook her head. Rude sighed and took out a green orb. Miyuki stared at it, thinking, "_So this is the Materia we went to war for. . ._" Rude activated the Materia and healed her aching face. Miyuki smiled despite herself, the relief she felt so pleasantly unexpected. Rude returned her smile. At that moment, Tseng came back in. Rude stood and walked out, not wanting to intrude on Tseng and Miyuki's conversation. Tseng gave her a bottle with the ShinRa logo on it. "A concentrate Potion," he explained in Wutaian. Miyuki put it down. Tseng insisted, "C'mon, I know you're in pain, just drink it." She wouldn't even look at it, her eyes leaking tears as she saw her beloved Wutai's coastline approach.

The moment the aircraft cleared the land and all Miyuki could see out the window was ocean, she broke down again, sounding so forlorn, so heart-achingly sad. Tseng spoke softly, "Please, don't cry. It's not as bad as you may think." She shook her head, sobbing, "How can it not be? I'm a coward! A traitor, _a whore!_" Tseng sighed, not knowing what to do. If it were any other female, he'd try to touch her, to put her at ease. But she was so ashamed of herself, so resentful of him, that he was quite disarmed, uncertain of what to do next.

Still, human empathy took over, and he laid a palm on her back. "You're a survivor. You do what needs to be done. Those are thing to be admired, Miyuki." Again she shook her head, unable to say what she felt. Tseng's proximity drew her, though, and before long she held onto him, still crying. "My family, Tseng, my friends, my village, I'm never seeing them again . . ." she sobbed, and all Tseng could do was murmur softly in Wutaian.

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A/N: And that's how Miyuki became a Turk! Let me know what you think through a PM or a nice review!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: Hey guys, here you go! Enjoy, Read and Review, please!

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I know I've been bad, not updating my stories in so long. I've had a lot of personal, professional and family situations that made my time very short and my muse dry up for a while. Hopefully, there's a few of you out there still interested in the stories. For those of you still willing to read on, thank you, and happy holidays!!

Brief recap, just so you don't have to read the last few episodes:

Tseng, Rude and Veld are at Wutai during the last kicks of the war. Miyuki's the star sniper of a guerrilla that takes out the ShinRa military, and the SOLDIERs are ordered to kill her. Veld wants to save Miyuki's life and talent and wants her to be a Turk, and uses Tseng as translator to negotiate with her. After simply dismissing Tseng's offer at first, Miyuki starts thinking about it and later accepts (a bit of an understatement, ke-ke-ke!). And she absolutely hates herself for having accepted the job offer.

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Her heartache and homesickness only grew worse upon reaching Midgar. She got violently sick upon getting into the helicopter, when it swung into the polluted air. The Mako stench, one Tseng and Rude had almost grown accustomed to, seemed impossibly thick to her, and she retched and gagged.

It also didn't help that, until the necessary medical tests were performed, she was to remain under lock and key in the holding facilities next to Hojo's laboratory. Her black, bruised eyes were impossibly wide at the prospect of spending the night alone next to the whining specimens, and Tseng was prepared to personally vouch for her to be transferred elsewhere.

He told her, "Please. It's just for the moment. I'll see what I can do." Miyuki nodded, sitting herself down on the cot provided, looking frightened and sad.

"No, Tseng. I'm sorry. Heidegger isn't going to budge. She'll have to stay there, until Hojo evaluates her and administers the necessary vaccines and such. And frankly, I agree, though not for the medical aspect. She might make a break for it," Veld told him, "I still don't quite understand how such a skinny girl managed to defeat as many SOLDIERs as she did. And with half the fight knocked out of her, no less."

Tseng glared at his mentor, "But sir, they're treating her like an animal! Nobody speaks her language, it's inhumane and cruel, sir! They lead her to a place and point, they set her food on the floor, she has to spend her first night here in what basically amounts to a lab cage, and you expect her to be happy and try to fit in? To not make a run for it?"

Veld gave Tseng a reproving look, "Tseng, only yesterday, Miyuki was an S-Rank enemy for this company. Until such a time as is necessary, she will remain in a locked room, under surveillance. I thought you understood that."

Tseng frowned, not wanting to look at his friend and, more than that, his teacher. Veld let out a breath through his nose, "I know you don't like it, Tseng, but that decision is final." The young Turk nodded, "Right. Goodnight then, sir." With that, Tseng spun on his heel and left.

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"You're doing _what_!?" Rude asked in disbelief, watching Tseng packing an overnight bag. "I'm going to the lab cage with Miyuki," Tseng repeated, a grim smile on his face. Rude knew better than to argue, instead opting to let Tseng continue his angry rant. He knew that once Tseng set his mind on something, there was no going back.

"It's fucking ridiculous, Rude. They're only doing this because she's from Wutai. You should see it. Her food on the floor, a hard little cot, it's insulting." Tseng went into the small bathroom and grabbed a few toiletries, "She's scared, and lonely. Homesick, too. How is she ever going to begin wanting to work with us when we've essentially just tossed her in a cage?"

Now, Rude never spoke more than necessary, but when he did, he showed deep insight people often ignored, thinking he never spoke because he had a vacuous mind. But in truth, Rude saw everything, read into it, and reserved his opinions until such a time as they were needed. Like now, with Tseng's emotional fixation on what was, just now, their prisoner.

Rude muttered, "Tseng . . . why is this getting you so bad?" Tseng's spine stiffened, but almost at once his shoulders drooped as he answered, "Because it could be me right there, Rude. I remember how people treated me when I first joined ShinRa. You and Veld were the only ones who treated me like a person. To everyone else I wore the face of the enemy. And . . ." he turned around, looking sad, " . . . And as bad as it was for me, it's many times worse for her."

Rude smiled, "How could I not treat you like a human? You were the only one to not make fun of my accent when I first got here." It was true; upon his arrival at the Company as a 16 year old, nobody could understand him, as his Mideel accent was so thick. It was one of the reasons Rude barely spoke at all, even though he spoke flawless Midgar dialect now. He still also got stuck whenever he was pressured to talk to the higher-ups. Tseng, who'd also been shunned by others, had tried to understand Rude as best he could, teaching the big teen how to speak the Midgar dialect. To this day, Tseng was the only one Rude trusted enough for casual conversation and unbiased friendship.

Rude continued, "You were never my enemy. All the contrary. But I guess I know what you're saying, though. I remember how Heidegger talked about you. And it's true, it really is worse for Miyuki right now."

Tseng smiled at his friend, "Thanks. So, I'll see you tomorrow at work."

Miyuki was startled awake from an uneasy sleep when her door was knocked upon. She heard Tseng ask, "Can I come in?" She answered that he could, and Tseng stepped into the room.

"Um . . . I'm sorry. I couldn't get you out of here. So, I'm accompanying you to the showers so you can get cleaned up, then to the cafeteria so you'll eat something," he explained. Miyuki eyed his bag, and gestured at it. Tseng smiled, "Since I can't take you out into a dorm, I'll keep you company here."

She wanted to make the usual, customary refusals, but she wanted company so bad she merely bowed her head, nodding faintly. He smiled kindly, murmuring, "I also found you some clothes . . . you know, if you want to go get cleaned up and fed at the cafeteria."

Two hours later, Miyuki was clean and fed, even though she hated the food with an intense loathing. She complained about there being no fish, her favorite food. Cheese she found abhorrently disgusting, it being a new food for her, and the day's main entrée was a chicken and cheese casserole. She ended up eating a salad, making a face at the dressing and trying to pick off as much cheese as she could.

He could tell Miyuki was still hungry. Tseng offered, "I could get some Wutai take-out . . ." Miyuki, however, shook her head, "No, it's OK. I'm just so tired . . ." Tseng gave her a look. Being properly washed since he'd first met her, the change was quite remarkable.

Miyuki's skin was porcelain smooth, although darker tanned than was usual for young, fashionable Wutaian women, which testified of long hours spent outdoors. Tseng suspected that, regardless of her spending much of her time outdoors, she was also just racially darker skinned. She was of the golden-skinned Wutai genetic stock, not pale like Tseng, who was of northern Wutai heritage.

He knew Miyuki was from the mountainous region of South-Central Wutai, a people often regarded as backwards by other Wutaian folk, most often those of Tseng's own northern lineage. Her eyes were more markedly slanted than his, and were jet-colored, a deep, fathomless black.

Personally, Tseng liked her hair. It was a deep, dark chestnut brown, very glossy and with natural highlights from the sun. Reaching to just past the middle of her back, it hung perfectly straight, and was too thick to be put in a ponytail.

And her mouth was a long, miserable line on her face, a small mole resting below the right corner of her bottom lip.

Tseng sighed and got up, both of them making their way past the laboratory and into the holding area. Once there, Tseng dragged a cot from an adjacent room into Miyuki's, and a few minutes later, they turned off the lights. After several minutes of silence, Tseng heard Miyuki cry, her breath shuddering as she struggled to be quiet.

He sighed, but before he could say anything, a creature from the adjacent laboratory let out a scream, shrill and inhuman. Miyuki screamed as well, and ran out of bed. Crumpling to the floor as far from the door as she could get, she gave a low, keening wail and wept, sounding full of despair. Tseng got up and sat next to her, his back to the cold wall behind him.

Miyuki cried, her hands fisted in her hair, her forehead pressed to her knees. "I hate it here! I hate it! I want to go home, I want to die, I can't do this, I can't be here!" she sobbed. Tseng put an arm around her shoulders, trying to cradle her against himself. "Everyone hates me, the way they look at me, and- and-" she gulped, suddenly falling silent, although her body still racked with the cries she held in.

"Miyuki?" Tseng prompted, mildly alarmed at her sudden change. Other than her ragged breathing, Tseng received no answer.

Then, after a silence that seemed eternal, she whispered, ". . . I can do this . . . if I could . . . if I could run with mercenaries, I can . . . oh, but . . . I . . . I feel like shit . . ." She kept whispering to herself, as if she'd forgotten Tseng was there with her. He could feel her body almost thrumming with nervous energy, and eventually, she stilled, her body relaxing against his. She went to bed without another word to him, curling up in a tight ball facing the wall.

* * *

The next morning found Miyuki wan and pale, and Tseng, tired and sore. Although he tried to make small talk with her, she wouldn't talk much. His duties prevented him from spending much of the day with her, though, and Miyuki spent the majority of the day dealing with ShinRa scientists who poked and prodded her, drew blood samples, administered painful vaccines and vitamin supplements, all to build up her medical file, and certified her ready to withstand the Mako treatments all Turks underwent.

Of course, she understood very little of what was being said to her, as only one technician in the laboratory spoke Wutaian, albeit very fragmented Wutaian. The only certain thing Miyuki was aware of was that she was in for a world of pain, regardless of all the pain she'd suffered already.

She didn't eat her breakfast when it was brought to her, and her lunch was taken away untouched. Dinner went untouched as well.

Tseng returned from work that day to find her silent, eyes gazing off into a distance Tseng had no way of reaching her. He asked, "Harada-san? Hey, Hara- Miyuki? Look at me." Miyuki blinked, looked at him. Then she sighed and lay down in her cot.

The next day, she still wouldn't talk, only cry. And Tseng knew she wasn't eating anything at all. He grew worried about her, and Rude noticed his friend's paleness, the way he would zone out and look constantly at his watch to hurry over to Miyuki during the short breaks they had during the day.

"She's not doing so well?" Rude asked Tseng on the fourth day. Tseng shook his head, looking out at the gray metropolis.

"No, Rude. She's not doing well at all," Tseng replied, "She's not eating or speaking, she just cries and sleeps. I think-" But he couldn't voice what he thought; if he spoke it out loud, it might happen.

Twelve days after her capture, Tseng couldn't lie to himself anymore. She was dying. Through her apathy, her general disinterest in the new lifestyle imposed upon her, Miyuki was growing ghostlike, ethereal, almost. Tseng had never seen her eyes looking anything other than sad or frightened, and now, they just seemed dead. Tseng knew she had additional strength and bravery, but that strength needed to be nurtured, fed, and she wasn't doing any of it. Miyuki had given up on life, it seemed.

She only talked to him, and only when he prodded her to. She shied away from people. Miyuki had begun eating again, but only so she wouldn't starve to death. She began taking training as well, made a laughable effort to learn the new language, and just didn't seem to fit in.

Tseng made an effort to make her feel welcome, bringing Wutaian takeout to her many times a week, attempting to cook simple Wutaian recipes he knew, but it was all to no avail.

"_Shion-san_ . . ." came her whisper on that first month he spent in the same room with her. "What is it, Miyuki?" Tseng replied. She looked at him, her eyes downcast, looking exhausted and sad. "_Shion_, has anyone . . . anyone from . . . from Wutai tried to reach me here?"

Tseng shook his head slowly, "Not to the best of my awareness. I'm sorry." She frowned, "But would you tell me either way? I mean, if I actually had received some message, would you tell me about it?" He shrugged, "Sure. I mean, no reason for me not to."

She seemed depressed, "But my capture was publicized, right?" Tseng looked at her, his expression unreadable, "Your capture . . . it _was_ publicized, but only here in ShinRa Tower, only the peace-keeping units. Only SOLDIER and us Turks knew about it. It wasn't public knowledge, you being part of the Turks now. In Wutai, I'm not sure what the authorities were told. What is this about, Miyuki?"

The Wutaian woman wiped an errant tear from her cheek, "Nobody knows if I'm alive or dead, do they? No one has asked or sent a message about me to the ShinRa . . . not my mother or father, not Kyo-kun, or An-Mei, or even . . ."

Tseng sighed through his nose, feeling sorry for her. "I don't know what to say, Miyuki. I mean, as a Turk, you could have a relationship with your family, have relationships with others . . . but it's a dangerous job, and many of us would rather not endanger those we love. Many of us have taken measures to prevent anyone finding our families, or those dear to us."

She looked up at him, "Who did you hide, _Shion_?" He shook his head, "Nobody. I have nobody to hide. My parents died when I was 15. Accident. I . . . a friend helped me out, and when I was 16, I joined the Turks. I want to protect that friend, at all costs."

Miyuki scrubbed her eyes with her small fists. Once she stopped, she asked, "So . . . I should let things like they are? I can't, and shouldn't, send messages to my family?" Tseng gnawed on his lower lip, not knowing how to answer her.

She answered herself, "I'm all alone here." Tseng sighed through his nose, "Listen, Miyuki, is this what you've been pining for all this time?" She looked up at him, and just as quickly she looked away. She shook her head.

"I . . . I just wish I knew my parents were alright. I just wanted to know whether someone had asked for me, asked about me. Did anyone else from the guerrilla get captured? Did . . did anyone try to barter for me, get me back?" she asked, eyes fixed on her clasped hands.

Tseng shook his head, "Sorry, Miyuki. No. I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but there were no attempts to negotiate for you, no messages for or about you have been intercepted. As far as Harada Miyuki is concerned, you seemed to have disappeared from everyone's radar after we caught you. Another thing is, you're on probation. You're a special case, you didn't volunteer for the Turks. As it is, you're on a long probation, in which you are forbidden to have any communications with anyone related to you back in Wutai. Your probation is probably much longer than usual, having your background."

She looked away from him, but Tseng could see the glimmer of tears in her dark eyes. He sighed, "Listen, Miyuki, I know you miss everyone."

It was a fucking joke. Of course she missed everything, but that last part he'd said before, about not having gotten any messages about her, how nobody tried to get her back, not even Shintaro, the man she'd thought she was important to. The mother of his child, the one who cooked and cleaned and cared for not just him but all the other fellows in the group. She bent her head and began to cry as Tseng had never heard her cry before. He'd heard her cry in desperate sobs, or in frightened ones, but these sounded just so profoundly sad, so full of despair, that Tseng felt a knot form in his own throat out of pure sympathy for this person he just couldn't seem to help no matter what he did.

"Miyuki, Miyuki . . . God damn it . . ." Tseng tried, sliding an arm around her quivering shoulders. Miyuki responded to his touch and hugged him tightly around the neck, overcome by an onslaught of weeping. And yet, as bad as it was, Tseng felt that she was finally admitting to herself that there was no going back, that she was there for good. If she admitted that and survived, Tseng thought she'd be all the stronger for it. "_But if she fails . . . Dammit, Miyuki, I want you to live! I don't want you to kill yourself or run away or anything!_"

She let Tseng go after a few minutes, wiping her face. Tseng watched her go over to her cot and lay down, her back to him, and he knew she would probably spend half the night crying in her broken-hearted way. He muttered, "Miyuki . . ?" She remained as she was, though, and Tseng turned off the light. He mirrored the way Miyuki was lying, and turned his back at her. Several minutes later, he felt her get up, muttering to discourage him from turning the light on.

"_Shion's right, I have to make a new life here. I can't keep thinking of my parents, of Shintaro, or Katsuo. But I miss them so badly! Why wouldn't Shintaro try to bargain for me, or try to save me? I miss him so much . . ._" she thought, hoping Tseng wouldn't mind too much about what she wanted to do right now.

The hair on the nape of Tseng's hair pricked up in gooseflesh as Miyuki sighed quietly, lying down beside him. There was so much she wanted to tell him, but she'd be damned before she herself was the cause of any harm happening to Katsuo. Still, there were some things she could say. She hugged Tseng's back, confessing, "I had a common-law husband in Wutai. I miss him so much, _Shion_. He . . . I . . . I thought he'd try to save me, or at the very least try to get a message to me . . . But . . . I know I obviously can't see him anymore, not if I want to stay alive . . . _Shion_, how do I live with this pain, the pain in my heart over all I left back in Wutai, all that I can't see anymore? I feel like I'm dying, like I can't breathe."

Tseng sighed in sympathy, turning around to face her. He could see fresh tears coursing down her face, although she did not sob or cry out loud. He leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead, sliding an arm to hold her against him as he whispered, "One step at a time, Miyuki. One step at a time, and don't forget to breathe."

* * *

Author's Note: Yeah, so they're keeping Miyuki in the same little compartment-cage thingamabobs where Hojo locked Cloud and Co. in the game. I wanted to use some of the same feeling Camryn had about exposing her child to those who could harm Reno in the way Miyuki tells Tseng about Shintaro but not about baby Katsuo. Now, where's Katsuo, or what happened to him? Stay tuned!!


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own Wutai, Lord Kisaragi, the Turks, SOLDIER, Midgar, the slums, ShinRa Electric Power Company or its executives. Those all belong to Square Enix. What does belong to me are my Original Characters, Camryn and Miyuki, and the story itself.

Pre-story A/N: So, it's not a happy situation for Miyuki, and here I try to write about the feeling of displacement and frustration one can sometimes feel. Part of writing is exploring yourself as a person, and I think that's why recently my stories have both taken a turn for the worse. I mentioned before I've been through some tough situations, and I suppose I am feeling similar to my characters right now: sad, frustrated, angry even. But things are starting to finally come around for me, and thus, soon we'll have happier events in the stories, once we're over this sad bump on the road.

Enjoy, Read and Review, please!

* * *

Weeks later, Miyuki was still maladjusted, but Tseng thought she was getting better. While her trainings weren't going very well, Heidegger thought they'd broken her, and that the scientists could continue into the next phase of treatment in making her a full Turk.

Having already certified her ready for the Mako immersion, the science team decided to begin at once, and sparing Miyuki a barely understood explanation, she was conducted to a chamber where she was doused with a dense Mako mist. As much as she tried not to breathe the noxious substance, in the end she had to, thinking that maybe ShinRa had decided to execute her after all.

She drew lungfuls of the air, and it felt like breathing in a burning cloud. Her nasal passages felt burned, raw. Her chest ached, her heart pounding in protest, a monstrous headache pounding in synch with her heart, her skin prickling up in gooseflesh as the Mako was transported from her lungs into her blood, and through her blood, to her brain and muscles, which twitched and spasmed uncontrollably.

Miyuki screamed in pain, her eyes burning, her skin crawling, her blood boiling. She threw up what little she'd eaten the previous night, and retched until all that came up were ropy strands of bile, and still they wouldn't open the doors to let her out.

She slid to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. She had no idea of the elapse of time, but finally, blessed relief came when the air was flushed out of the chamber, followed by a light shower from the sprinklers on the ceiling.

Feeling disoriented and frightened, she tried to push away the laboratory assistants who lifted her to her feet, still spasming and shaking. They left her in her chamber.

A few hours later, Tseng made his way to where she was, and was horrified to find out what she'd been through. He felt so frustrated, so angry at the company he worked for, that they couldn't give him a chance to explain things to her. But there she was, still in her wet clothes, shaking with muscle spasms and fright, weak with hunger, confused and distraught and in considerable pain.

As it was, all Tseng could do was fetch her ice-bags to put on her head, get her painkillers for the muscle spasms. She spent the rest of the day and throughout the night deeply unconscious, exhaustion mixed with the Mako.

_Months later_

While they were becoming less frequent with time, Miyuki was on another of her crying jags, this time provoked into angry tears by what she felt was harassment on Tseng's part to get her to learn the Midgar Continental language."You miss Wutai, the food, the people. But you're not making it any easier for yourself to be allowed more freedoms than you have right now," he told her.

Her crying subsided after a few more minutes, after which Miyuki sniffled and asked, "Wha- What freedoms? I'm just another prisoner here." Tseng let out a frustrated breath, "Only because you choose to be. Miyuki, we hired you to be a Turk. An elite spy and assassin, and not as a- not as a desk secretary, as you've been working these past few months!"

He hated to be so blunt, but there was no other way. Tseng drew a deep breath and told her, "You're not going back to Wutai anytime soon. There's nobody there for you. Get over it." Miyuki gave him an angry look, but Tseng continued,

"Learn the language. Finish your trainings. Take a few easy missions and do them well. These are the things that will allow you out of this miserable Tower. You get a good success rate on your missions, you'll be sent out more often, and eventually, you'll get your own pick of some of the missions. You'll only report to Veld, and not Scarlet or Heidegger. You'll get your own apartment, and there will be more freedoms than you've ever had, if only you'd stop whining about things and made your own course of action."

She looked at him, eyes shocked, angry, offended at what she felt was an uncaring, unkind speech on his part. Tseng glared right back at her, but softened his expression a bit when he saw her chin quiver. Miyuki turned her back on him and lay in her cot sideways, eyes on the dull wall before her. Tseng sighed, heading over to his own cot. He'd no longer sat in it, putting up his pillow and readying his blanket, than he heard Miyuki call softly, "_Shion . . ?_"

He replied, "_Nani?_"

"You're an asshole."

It was hostile enough to make him laugh, and he heard her laugh as well.

* * *

It worked. Tough love worked on Miyuki. Following that curt exchange, she began trying to fit in with more enthusiasm and determination than she had before. She took the night classes that Rude recommended, to improve her heavy Wutai accent and to learn how to express herself in Midgar dialect. She resumed her training, and practiced her shooting skills several times a week. One problem, though, was that she would always be relying on Tseng to drive her to the shooting ranges.

Tseng wanted her to get her own license, for her to learn how to drive and make her way around the city. After two months of his reasons for being unable to drive her around, of excuses ranging from conflicting missions, to generally just being on his day off, Miyuki got angry, insulted and threatened him, yelled, swore in mixed Midgar-Wutai dialects, kicked up a tantrum.

A month after that, she had her own license, which she gleefully showed off to Tseng, claiming she didn't need his sorry ass anymore, that he could just go rot in hell for all she cared.

She hung up on him.

His PHS rang again exactly 2 minutes later.

Then she asked him over for dinner, asking him about any and all missions she could take to make up for all the time she'd lost when she'd first come here.

The first few missions, either Tseng accompanied her, or Rude watched her from the sidelines (she was still afraid of him). She was very successful, but definitely worked better alone, as she often ran out on teammates or disagreed with them to the point missions were compromised. If a teammate showed the slightest resistance to working with her because of her being from Wutai, she'd fight that person.

She also showed a tendency to break the rules, bend her orders. The only partner she truly tolerated was Tseng, who could keep her in line and help her focus.

But still, she was good at her job. Veld had been right; with good guns, ammunition and materia, Miyuki was a ballistics mastermind. All the equations for calculating distance, wind resistance, gun angles, necessary scopes, she already knew all of it, even if she did it more by gut instinct than by formula. If she'd been a terrific sniper with the shabby weapon she'd had in Wutai, with none of the fine equipment to determine heat, humidity, wind speed and direction, all those factors . . . Now that she had them, Miyuki had proven to be the best sniper the Turks had ever had. Whatever her target, if Miyuki took the shot, the target fell. Tseng had never seen her miss. He'd gone out on a sniping mission with her once, and she'd had an eloquent discussion on the proper way to fix Sumida River Village egg-drop soup while shooting at several guards posted at a crime-lord's estate, later switching to providing support for the SOLDIERs who entered to take care of those inside. By the end of the conversation, 26 people were dead, none having had any idea what would happen to them until the high-speed bullet tore through their heads. And Tseng was, by the end of the mission, an enlightened man, knowing how to prepare the Wutaian delicacy.

The first time she was allowed to go out on her own, with no other Turk to watch her, to make sure she was being followed, Miyuki had been so happy she'd kissed Tseng flat on the mouth. The implied trust that Veld and Tseng had in her, the unspoken faith they showed not just in her work, on her trustworthiness as a Turk, but on Miyuki herself, had been refreshing, as healing to her soul as very few things ever could be.

* * *

"_Schwo buchulai_!" Miyuki grumbled when Heidegger rattled off a complex series of instructions, ignoring her quiet, accented pleas of him to slow down. "What are you saying?" Heidegger asked, furrowing his brow. Tseng clarified, "She says you're speaking too fast, sir. She's not following."

The tall, bearded man scoffed, "Well, she's just going to have to step it up. We can't have you stuck to her side all the time; Veld insists you're a good Turk. Either she learns, or she's out." Tseng defended her, "But sir, she's only been here for a few months, and I'm the only one here who's helping her-"

Heidegger cut him off, "No excuses. Either she learns, or she's out." He turned and left, leaving Tseng with further instructions, "Just make sure she does as she'd told, in any case."

Tseng sighed, and Miyuki cast her eyes down. She knew how much harder she was making his life, and was embarrassed for her inability to become what was expected of her, not because she wanted to be a Turk, but because Tseng was making such an effort for her sake.

"_Shemma bende ren_!" Miyuki whispered to herself, to which Tseng replied, also in Wutaian, "It's not your fault. He's almost always this unreasonable. Don't call yourself a fool on his account."

She sighed deeply, head still bowed. Tseng suggested, "Do you want to practice some more?" Miyuki gave him a bitter smile and mimicked Heidegger's tone, "Either I learn or I go, _sempai_."

And learn she did. Rude was actually very impressed by how fast Miyuki learned the language, once she truly made up her mind to learn and focused on the lessons. Tseng, on the other hand, was pleased with how she'd grown as a person, not just as a Turk. She begun talking with others and not just Tseng, had tried to get along with Rude and Veld (successful) as well as the teammates Tseng assigned her (not so successful).

Finally, the day came when Miyuki was allowed out of the holding cell and get her own apartment. Tseng got her an apartment in the Living Quarters, a double room, as he'd be bunking in with her while she got settled. Once she was alright with her new surroundings, he'd move out back into his neglected apartment and she would have all the space she needed.

She smiled at his enthusiasm, as he opened the door, "So, go on! See how you like it. They really are comfortable apartments. A bit small, maybe, but all we ever do in here is sleep anyways."

He'd filled her pantry with Wutaian groceries. Noodles, rice, vegetables, and a freezer stocked with her beloved fish, he'd truly made a considerable effort to make her feel at home. He had used the knowledge acquired from all their late night conversations, all those crying jags of hers when she confessed to him all the things she'd loved about Wutai that she missed so terribly, all those months of living with her, and had put that knowledge to good use by trying to predict her tastes and the small things she would want. He'd even found her lacquered dishes, which she'd told him she hadn't used even in all the time she spent in the guerrilla.

The food, the little things, and the traditional futon he'd gotten for her to sleep in, it all brought her new reality home to her, while at the same time she felt an enormous wave of gratitude towards Tseng.

She bowed her head, sniffling. Tseng asked, "Miyuki, what is it?" Miyuki smiled, wiping her tears away and trying to compose herself, "Thank you, Tseng. Thank you so, so much."

She asked him to stay for dinner, and fixed a complete Wutaian meal for the two of them, the likes of which Tseng had never had outside his grandmother's home. Tseng smiled, seeing her work with vigor, with purpose, actually smiling herself as she groused about the poor quality of the Wutaian groceries imported to Midgar, crowing happily about her own superior cooking skills which far outdistanced Tseng's own.

She made fun of him, baiting him, and Tseng occasionally gave her the satisfaction of rising to her baiting with verbal barbs of his own. That he annoyed her by claiming he didn't need to know how to cook, that was why there were women, was only part of it.

The meal, in the end, had been delicious, and for the first time in months, Tseng felt he was actually seeing Miyuki's true smile. Tseng enjoyed the change in her. She'd evolved from a deeply frightened young woman into a more confident one, from a girl who was wholly dependent on others for her survival to one that, as Tseng had once told her, made her own course of action.

* * *

A/N: I really like how the dynamics between Tseng and Miyuki came out. Even if she's still not quite talking to Rude just yet, she's becoming part of the team.

Please review!!


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